Dark Matter
by crazylittleelf
Summary: Invisible matter, which has weight but does not interact with light. Dark matter can only be indirectly measured.
1. Prologue

**Warnings**: Language, violence.

**Spoilers**: None. AU.

**Disclaimer**: Not mine, etc.

**Notes**: Infinite thanks to Chichuri for encouragement and beta reading. Her story, "Slip off the Choke Chain" is remixed at the start of the last chapter of "Dark Matter." Written for scifibigbang

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_Prologue: I've got this feeling that there's something that I missed._

In the darkened observation area behind the one-way mirror three people in gray business suits watched a room full of children playing. If one didn't know otherwise, it would appear to be a pre-school, maybe a class of kindergartners. The watchers occasionally commented on a particular child, took notes relating to the way certain children interacted with others. All of the interactions were interesting to some degree but their attention eventually focused on a trio that had isolated themselves from the others.

The girl was reclusive by nature, even more so since the last incident. Blond hair brushed her shoulders and her pale hazel eyes were somber. She seemed to have grasped the repercussions of what she had done, however accidental the fire might have been. She had become more withdrawn than usual, worrying parents who were threatening to remove her from the program, which was not an option any of the three adults present were willing to entertain. Her back was pressed into one corner of the room, knees hugged to her chest. Her shoes, as usual, were nowhere to be seen.

Her companion's white-blond hair was bowl-cut around his head and his eyes were bright blue. He was younger than the other children, smaller, but gregarious and cheerful. He was building towers of blocks and had surrounded them with a forest of the colorful structures. At the completion of each tower he patted the girl's arm, pulled at her hand and pointed to his newest building. The watchers could see his tiny shoulders lift and fall as he sighed and started building again.

The newcomer to the group was driving a little car around the towers, careful not to knock them over. His dark, curly hair set him at odds with the blond pair. So far, he had not made any effort to interact with the girl, which was disappointing to the adults. They were running out of time to get this particular pair back on track or face losing them completely, and while they questioned the children's stability, their ability was never in any doubt.

The blond boy, Nick, stopped building when the other boy pushed the car near him. He smiled and Peter smiled back at him. Peter pushed the car towards Nick and Nick rocked it back and forth with one finger. More cars appeared from the dark-haired boy's pockets and the two of them played. Words like "promising" and "stabilizing" were passed among the observers. The girl watched, expressionless.

Nick patted his partner's arm again and held his little car up to her. Her head cocked slightly to the side as she focused on the toy. Peter tried to hand her a car, encroached a little too deeply into her space and she sank her teeth into his hand. He howled and backed into one of Nick's towers, scattering the blocks. The look of despair on the smaller boy's face was clear even from across the room. The girl hissed in anger and Nick started to cry. The change in her was immediate. The impassive mask dropped and she comforted him, knelt beside him and wrapped her arms around her partner. Peter sat near her, rubbing his hand but making no attempt to leave. He inched closer until he was pressed up against her side. When Nick stopped whimpering he returned his attention to his towers. The other two joined him, offering him blocks, helping him reach the tops of the tallest towers.

Those watching declared the experiment a success. After all, eventually Olive bit everyone.


	2. One

_Chapter One: Something happened, that I never understood._

The little hairs along Peter's neck snapped to attention and he got a crawling, itchy sensation like there was something too close to his ear. He dropped his head towards his shoulder and tried to scratch his ear without taking his hands off the PlayStation controller. Nick was kicking his ass at the stupid game, had been for hours, but Peter was determined to make a comeback. Olive shifted on the couch behind him. Out of the corner of his eye he could see her touch the toes of one foot to the back of Nick's neck. Nick flinched away but didn't miss a beat in the damn game.

"Olive, knock it off. Bother Peter." He grinned but didn't glance away from the TV.

The shivery feeling was back, stronger now and he could feel her finger tracing the back of his ear, fingernail scraping lightly over his skin. He caught sparks of warmth through their connection, delight in teasing him, amusement that he was losing so badly.

Peter frowned at the stupid game and the mischievous presence behind him. "Woman, leave me alone."

The throaty laugh from behind his head did nothing to relax the nervous response her finger was drawing from him and he shoved away the familiar desire that tried to pool in his stomach. He growled a little, tried to concentrate on rolling the ridiculous ball around the screen but Nick had already collected all the easy targets. He bumped into a cow and knocked a shower of thumbtacks off the ball. The next touch of her finger was wet, sliding from the top of his ear to the lobe in one disgusting swipe.

"Oh, god_damn_ it!" He grabbed at her hand but she'd pulled out of reach behind him. He dropped his hand back to the controller just in time to fail to keep his little alien from rolling right into a cat that batted him around and knocked all the crap off his stupid ball. He felt her shift behind him and was grabbing for her hand before it reached his ear this time.

He turned and pulled her forward, managed to get his fingers around her wrists and keep her hands away from his head. He also managed to roll her far enough forward that she kicked Nick in the back of the head and he dropped his controller.

"Ow. Fuck, Olive, watch what you're doing."

Her shriek was loud enough that he was sure they'd be getting complaints from the downstairs neighbors again, but what the hell -- it wasn't his apartment. He rose up on his knees and pinned her to the couch with one arm, made a show of licking his finger.

"No, Peter, don't you dare." She managed to kick Nick again as she tried to wiggle out from under Peter's arm, giggles rendering her attempt at escape ineffective.

Nick rolled out of the way of her feet, snickering. "You're a dead man if you do that."

"Wassa matter, Olivia? Fair is fair after all."

She was laughing too hard to respond and he pinned her until she went still, giggles subsiding into a content little smile. Warmth flooded through him as he returned the smile and it was the spectrum of companionship that had bound them since they were young. He blinked and turned away before the warmth got awkward. More awkward. He sighed.

"The two of you are children. Seriously." Nick flopped back against the couch.

Olive slid off the couch and thumped to the floor between them. "Says the person who plays video games all day." Her tone was snippy but her smile tempered the words as she glanced sidelong at Nick.

"I don't play video games _all_ day. Sometimes I go skateboarding." Nick returned the glance, sliding his eyes towards Olive to look at her through his eyelashes.

"Sometimes he cooks," Peter pointed out.

Nick's head bobbed in agreement and grinned. "I do your damn laundry."

Olive snorted.

Nick turned towards her, eyes wide and incredulous. "What? Like you do anything."

"I work, unlike the two of you." She stretched and kicked Peter's ankle.

The frown that creased his forehead was half-serious. "You play with numbers. That's not working for you. The Bosses are gonna cut you loose once they figure out that a calculator can do the same thing."

"Whatever." She rocked her foot back and forth, knocking rhythmically into Nick's. Nick handed Peter's controller back to him and picked up like nothing had happened. Olive managed nearly five minutes before she sighed and kicked her foot into Nick's hard enough to make him wince.

"Someone's bored?" A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

"You've been doing this for hours."

Nick glanced over his shoulder to her laptop and the papers scattered over the couch. "Done with the stats on that?"

One shoulder lifted in a half-hearted shrug. "Mostly. Tired of working on it. Peter's right, there's nothing complicated about it that someone else couldn't do. You're the only one working on anything interesting."

"Hey, breaking into empty storage units and stalking cut-rate attorneys is highly interesting." Peter grinned at her. "You should try it. I got a list of sites they want me to hit that a recruit could pull off blindfolded. That way I'd have more time to play video games with Nick."

"No time for games after tonight, man. Harley will be back from checking on the California site that's showing wiggy data like the one here. We're gonna try to sort out what's causing it. I'll be starting the psych evals on the subjects tomorrow."

Olive's nose wrinkled. "I can't believe our new handler is named _Harley_. We should kill him just for that."

"Nah, he's not bad. Better than the last guy anyway." Nick's little alien did a victory dance. "Dude, you suck at this."

Peter's controller bounced off the front of the entertainment center. "This game is stupid." He pushed off from the floor. "Need a break anyway."

Olive bounced to her feet and nodded towards Nick's empty glass.

He brushed his fingers across hers as he handed it to her. Their eyes locked and lingered and a smile spread over his face. "Yeah. Thanks, babe." He smiled after her when she went to the kitchen.

Nick rose and stretched, caught sight of the shadows in the corner of the room. With the lights all on, there shouldn't be shadows in the corner of the room and he frowned at them. They skittered away as he took as step towards them and he blinked. Olive's hand at the small of his back made him jump.

"Nick?"

"Yeah? Jeez. You scared me."

Her nose wrinkled. "Since when can I sneak up on you?"

He shrugged and rolled his head back on his neck. "Haven't been sleeping so well. Guess it's catching up on me."

She opened her mouth to say something, nag him about taking care of himself probably, but he tilted his head towards hers and brushed a kiss over her lips. Reassurance flowed along their link, muted by his fatigue, but there all the same. She smiled against his mouth, a flicker of movement, before stepping back from him. He followed, hands at her hips to keep her close. The little whine of protest was muffled by his mouth. She leaned into him, drawn in by his affection.

Peter cleared his throat from the doorway. The sigh left Nick's mouth before she'd even jerked away, cheeks flushing pink.

"Sorry." Her bare toes were suddenly the most interesting things she'd ever seen and she riveted her eyes on them.

Peter locked his eyes on the door, rubbed a hand through the unruly curls of his hair. "Yeah. Um, look, I'm gonna head home. I'll see you at the meeting tomorrow."

Nick's irritation flickered at their connection. "I thought we were gonna get breakfast first."

"Uh." Peter shrugged. His embarrassment was tinged with jealousy and guilt, familiar to them all. Nick tried to ease the feelings away, because, seriously, he didn't even know why this was an issue anymore, but they both were scrambling to close their links to each other, blocking him in the process. Peter was edging towards the door and Olive was edging towards the kitchen. Nick rolled his eyes, exasperation plain on his face before he went carefully neutral, not wanting to make things worse. Not that it mattered. Neither one was making eye contact by that point.

Nick sighed. "Fine. See you tomorrow, Peter." Peter was in the hallway of the apartment building before Nick could finish his name, door clicking shut behind him quietly.

Olive had gotten as far as the center of their tiny kitchen and was tapping the fingers of her left hand together, counting something off. He gathered up the empty soda cans from the living room and wandered in behind her, watched her warily with both his eyes and his mind. Her emotions shifted, dim spots of anger overtook the embarrassment. It was distant though; she was still keeping her walls up and he really had no desire to reach out and feel his way around this particular scar.

"Don't do that." The words were clipped and quiet, the way she got when she was uncomfortable.

His voice was resigned, as upset with himself for forgetting as with her for her insecurities. "I should be able to kiss you in our home. That's not asking a whole lot."

"It bothers him."

"It bothers _you_. I wish you would just deal with this instead of getting pissed at me. I wish you would _believe_ me that it's not a big deal. You're so stubborn."

Her cheeks went pink again and she narrowed her eyes.

"Olive…"

"I don't want to talk about it."

His mouth opened but he stalled out trying to find a reply, shook his head instead. The insomnia of the last week left him unable to counter, unwilling to fight with her. "Of course you don't. You never do."

Her best efforts couldn't keep the stab of hurt contained and he closed his eyes before crossing to her. She stayed rigid in his arms a moment, then melted as he pushed though to her, using the contact to overwhelm her defenses. The apology flowed over their link, even though he wasn't really sure why he was always the one to apologize in this familiar fight or what he was even apologizing for.

"Stubborn." Muttered against her forehead, and his affection dulled the sting of the word. She nodded, and he could feel her almost decide to let those particular mental walls slip, but her avoidance was engrained. They were pros at dancing around the issue and it was always two against one to keep pretending that their feelings for each other didn't go beyond friendship.

She pushed away from him and gave him a forced smile. He tried to return it but it was just too much effort. Her eyes dropped to his chest and he glanced around the kitchen, gave his standard peace offering.

"You want me to cook dinner?"

Her smile was real this time, small but it reached her eyes. "Not so hungry."

"Yeah." He nodded. She met his eyes and moved to get bowls out of the cabinet and he got the milk from the fridge. She made a face at the sugary junk he chose.

"That's not even food. How can you eat that?"

"Better than that." He tapped his spoon against her box of boring, extremely healthy bran flakes. "Talk about disgusting. Might as well just eat the box."

He put the milk away and followed her to the living room. She'd found some cartoons and was sitting on the floor in front of the couch again. He dropped next to her, close enough that their arms brushed. She elbowed him and stole a marshmallow from his cereal. Empty bowls were nudged away and she was curled against his side, drowsing before the end of the show.

The warmth of her beside him in bed later, the comforting weight of her resting mind, brought sleep tantalizingly close but his eyes stayed open, fixed on the jagged shadows on the ceiling well into the night.

*****

Peter hesitated outside the door like he always did, keys in hand, unwilling to use them. He tucked them into his pocket and knocked, shifting the bag of pastries to his other hand while he waited. The meeting was still a few hours off, but he knew they'd be up already. Hell, Olive had probably rolled out of bed at dawn and gone to the Y down the street. He resisted the urge to peek along their connection; they were home, her car and Nick's bike were at the curb in prime parking spaces he never managed to snag. The walk had taken him past the bakery and he figured bringing breakfast couldn't hurt.

Nick was still yawning when he opened the door, shirtless and rubbing sleep from his eyes. Black boxers hung low on his lean hips. Peter followed Nick's fingers as they scratched at the flat muscles of his stomach before he jerked his eyes back to Nick's face.

"Oh, good. Sugar."

Peter smirked. "Nice to see you, too, Peaches."

Nick rolled his eyes and stepped back to let Peter in. "You want coffee?"

"Mm… yeah. Where's the missus?"

"Shower. Just got back from the gym." Nick eyed the bag. "You get any toffee danishes?"

"'Course." Peter fished around in the bag and came up with Nick's favorite.

"Thanks."

Nick tinkered with the coffee maker, yawned hugely at the thing a few times.

"You awake?"

"Uh. No, not really. Been having a little trouble falling asleep."

Peter didn't even need their connection to see the lie there. There were dark circles under Nick's eyes, stark against his pale skin. Nick was edgy, too, his usual casual demeanor eroding under the lack of sleep. Peter made his voice as casual as he could. "You taking something to help?"

"Nuh. It's not that bad." Nick was shaking his head loosely, absently, but Peter could see the tension along the lines of his back. He picked at his danish and watched Nick, measuring the pros and cons of pushing the issue. Nick was actively blocking him now, keeping the walls up against casual intrusion. He slid the other way, along his link to Olive and felt worry but nothing serious. He licked raspberry jam off him thumb and decided it wasn't worth pursuing just yet.

Olive timed her entrance perfectly and got the first cup of coffee. She flicked her eyes over both of them and settled on Nick.

"Get dressed."

Nick looked down at his boxers. "Not casual day?"

She glared at him with no real anger, the little smile that tugged at her lips betraying her amusement. "Not causal day. Not underwear day either."

Nick quirked a smile at her, mischief lighting his eyes and headed to their bedroom. He bumped into her and leaned towards her ear. "Does that mean you aren't wearing underwear?"

He dodged out of the way of the punch she threw towards him.

Peter looked at her over his coffee cup. "I think that's a valid question."

She dropped into a chair and pulled the bag towards her. She pulled a blueberry muffin out and proceeded to pick out the blueberries. "I'm not discussing the state of my underwear with you." She lined the fruit up along the edge of her napkin.

He shook his head. "Why are you mutilating that poor muffin?"

She gave him a look and ate the blueberries one by one.

He fiddled with the napkin holder. "Is Nick okay?"

She froze at the question, flicked her eyes towards the back of the apartment and hesitated a long moment before meeting his. "He's just stressing about the job. It's not following protocol and working so closely with the handler is throwing him off. You know he doesn't do so well being scrutinized. He's just nervous about it." She looked like she was going to say more but Nick came back, still buttoning his gray shirt.

"Who's driving?"

"Not her. I want to get there in one piece."

"Not Peter. His car's probably in Medford with his luck parking. Let's just take the train and walk the rest of the way."

Nick slid his eyes to Peter and mock-whispered. "She's trying to trick us into exercising."

"Sneaky."

*****

The meeting room was all dark paneled wood and thick carpets, huge mahogany table and those green shaded lamps that look like they were stolen from a library. The whole room looked like it had been lifted from some movie set. The officers were in standard gray suits, expensive and well-tailored, paired with muted ties. Martin was droning on about the biotech firm he was undermining. Peter leaned further back in the cozy leather chair, scratching absently at a beard that had moved well beyond "scruffy" a few weeks ago and, choked back a yawn. When they had drug him back in to the ZFT fold years ago Peter never would have guessed that subversive terrorist organizations would be so boring.

Nick was sprawled to Peter's left, one leg hooked over the arm of his chair, black sneaker kicking lightly at Peter's chair. He was doodling -- dinosaurs, Peter thought, but he couldn't quite see the notebook. Nick shifted in the chair, angled the paper towards Peter to show him the t-rex chasing Martin. Peter took the notebook from him and added a couple velociraptors before handing it back. He tugged the sleeve of his ratty gray sweatshirt down over the back of his hand. It was always freezing in the meeting room.

Olive was on his right, closest to the image of soldier they were supposed to maintain in her black dress pants and charcoal shirt. The messy waves of her hair were caught in a knot at the nape of her neck. She was actually paying attention, too, alert and taking notes. Nick glanced over to her and Peter caught the thought that flitted across their connection.

_Suck up._

Annoyance flickered across her face, just for a moment before the impassive mask was firmly back in place.

"Mr. Lane."

The three of them looked towards the front of the room. Martin had ended his report and Kolesch, the officer running the meeting, was looking at them expectantly.

"How are things going with the Immitral trials?"

Nick straightened in his chair. "Pretty well. Most of the results have been well within the expected range with the exception of two sites. The problems at the sites seem to be anomalous but we're taking a closer look at them. We've set up a recon team at each site." He nodded to the handler sitting across the table from them. "Mr. Handenberg has been looking at the site in California that's showing odd results and we'll be monitoring the site here that's showing the same. We're heading out after the meeting to see that our people are in place and haven't disrupted the existing operation. In addition to the blind trials we have a sleeper on site that we're not wanting to activate, so we want to maintain as much anonymity as possible. We have a couple soldiers in place peripherally and I'll be monitoring things as well. We have covers set up that will give us access to the school without raising any questions."

"You think the anomalous results warrant this expenditure of resources?"

"Wouldn't be doing it if I didn't." His smile was sweetly snarky.

"And this sleeper?"

He glanced at Handenberg before answering. "Coincidence. She's not someone we've been manipulating. She took the job at the school before the trials started."

"Very good. Thank you, Mr. Lane. Mr. Bishop, how are your reconnaissance efforts coming along."

"Uh, good, good. Most of the sites are pretty straightforward. I'm hitting one in the downtown area this afternoon. I'll be taking Olivia with me to handle the security and surveillance systems." The burst of irritation was strong enough to be painful but her face betrayed nothing. He maybe should have mentioned that to her before now. "Quick in and out to grab the files."

"Excellent. Do keep us posted."

Peter nodded and smiled as if he never neglected to file field reports. "Of course."

"And Miss Dunham?"

"I uploaded the latest data this morning and have the new files for analysis. There hasn't been anything exceptional with the findings."

"Excellent. As always."

Olive waited until Koelsch had moved on to the next person before she turned ever so slightly towards Peter and stuck her tongue out at him.

*****

Nick leaned back and watched the city sliding along outside the window. The balance of the seasons was just tipping towards autumn. Still warm during the day but the nights were getting cold. He preferred summer, but Olive liked this time of year. Peter had complaints against all the seasons, although winter seemed to be his least favorite. Peter hated being cold.

"Have you had a chance to look over your cover?"

Nick turned to the man driving the car. Older than they were, he'd been recruited out of the military. Thin and balding, he wore the standard gray suit of a low ranking officer. Peter had been pretty through in his background check and quite possibly knew more about their handler than any of the officers did. Harley Handenberg was poised to climb the ZFT ladder after years of loyal service and a spotless record.

Nick wondered if he understood that they were his interview for passage into the upper echelons of the organization. He wondered if the upper echelons understood that they knew they were a test for promising officers and a punishment for dismal failures.

He nodded. "Educational technology consultant who specializes in multi-dimensional learning environments that engender positive enrichment for young minds. Whatever the fuck that means. And I _read_ all that bullshit that was in the dossier. I still don't know what it means."

"We're going in as accreditation consultants sent in by the school district. No one really wants to talk with consultants so it shouldn't matter if you know what it means or not. Just string together babble from the file and you'll be fine. That's all consultants do anyway. We should be able to avoid contact with most of the faculty and concentrate on the class involved in the trials. We have one soldier in place as a tech support guy. He's handling the security and surveillance. We've also got someone in food services. They're administering the drug."

Nick remembered pills and needles, IVs dripping ice into their arms that fanned the fires in their minds. He suppressed a shudder. "How?"

"Juice boxes. Someone in the Des Moines lab came up with a way of containing the drug until the straw punctures the little foil thing that seals the box. Mixes in, the things taste pretty bad to begin with so no one notices. Really clever."

"Yeah. Clever." His voice sounded hollow to his own ears.

Olive had been the first of them to figure out how to separate herself from the testing, from the work when it got to be too much. They had pushed her harder than him or Peter and she found temporary walls could silence that part of her mind that objected to what they were doing. It became a necessity when they were kept active instead of being released or dropped into sleeper status like the rest of the recruits. They were special, a point reiterated to ease the tears and push them through the grueling training. It echoed in their ears when they were battered by the resentment of older recruits who were passed over in favor of them. It was, Nick reflected, perhaps his lease favorite word. He started walling himself off, creating distance between soldier-Nick and the core of him that he didn't let them get to, the core where he loved his girlfriend and his best friend, where he smiled and was just Nick. He hid.

"How is the new medication treating you?"

Nick thought over the last few weeks. Of the three of them he'd always been the least stable -- he knew that was why Peter was with them. The drugs had changed over the years moving from standard treatments of lithium to cutting edge atypical antipsychotics developed under the pharmaceutical division of Massive Dynamic, the organization's public persona.

Nick blinked. "Fine."

"No side effects?"

"No. Nothing." He shook his head and scratched his wrist.

"Good. Want to keep you in top form."

*****

He felt them when they were still miles out from the school, bright points on the radar of his awareness. They were young, shifting quickly through emotions. The intensity was overwhelming. He eased more walls up and carefully arranged them against the onslaught, keeping them out, but keeping himself in, too. It was a trade-off, blocking people across the board like this. It muted his connection to Olive and Peter, but it was necessary. Working with kids was hard for all of them, especially kids involved in testing. Cutting himself off from Olive for a few weeks was worth if it kept her from experiencing the assignment second-hand from him.

"Damn."

Harley glanced over. "I take it they're showing up for you?"

"Yeah. Holy crap. I mean, I'd read the reports from Riverside but I wasn't really expecting it to be this strong." One of the kids tumbled off a swing set and skinned his knee. Nick winced at the pain.

"Is working on site going to be an issue?" It was an out; one that was freely offered as far as he could tell. They hadn't been working with Harley long, but he seemed honest enough. Peter insisted that he wasn't above testing them, that they should _expect_ him to test them, but hell, Peter probably thought that about Olive's dry-cleaner, too.

"No, I'll manage."

*****

The school was an ugly brick rectangle that crouched in the center of a field of brown grass. A tired looking elm tree stood in front dropping leaves listlessly over the parking lot. A group of kids was playing soccer in the field, their shouts and laughter brightening the rather bland exterior.

They paused outside the classroom of first graders that were participating in the trial and Nick flicked his eyes over the group. The kids looked smaller than he would have thought, clustered around their teacher, eyes rapt as they listened to a story. From the notes he knew they hadn't been paired; there was no testing as such, not like what he and Olive been through. The children were grouped in twos, though. The pair nearest the door were holding hands. The teacher glanced up, blue eyes distantly familiar. He snapped his walls up and stepped out of sight.

Harley glanced at him. "You remember her?"

"Yeah, a little. She wasn't in our group but she was close enough that we had some interaction with her. Shouldn't be a problem, right? Her memories were scrubbed?"

"Correct. She might think you look familiar but she shouldn't be able to get any farther than that. Let me show you the office you'll be using. They're a bit short on space until they finish the remodeling of the rest of the building so it's a little out of the way, but that's not necessarily a bad thing under the circumstances. It's uh… not the coziest space I've ever seen."

They turned down a hallway that led past the teacher's lounge, past a few offices. The hallway dead-ended in a storage room lined with athletic equipment on one side and cleaning supplies on the other. The metal desk hunkered in the center like an aircraft carrier. It probably weighed as much as one.

"Geez. You weren't kidding."

"It won't be a problem?"

Nick eyed the shelf of dusty helmets and shoulder pads. "Be fine as long as the shelves don't collapse and kill me."

Harley clapped him on the shoulder. "Great. The initial data has been uploaded to the server and should be available to you in the project directory. Feel free to wander around. There's a snack machine in the teacher's lounge on the first floor. We'll meet with Spencer -- he's working the surveillance -- tomorrow. Settle in, review the files. We'll start the meeting with the faculty over the next few days and try to suss out what's throwing off the results."

"Not the kids?" Nick winced at the hopeful note in his voice.

"Not at first. We'll start at the top and work our way down, so to speak." Harley glanced around the office again. "Alright, then. I'll let you get to it."

He was halfway down the hall before Nick mustered the enthusiasm to mutter, "Thanks."

*****

The office building was an older one, smaller, crouched between two looming glass and steel pillars. Peter and Olive had parked themselves on a bench opposite the building and were watching the entrance.

"So… what exactly are we doing?"

Peter sprawled on the bench and took the risk of draping his arm behind her along the back. She flicked her eyes his way but nothing else. "We're surveying the site for possible danger to ensure our safety. Reconnaissance is a vital part of our strategy in the field and we would be remiss to rush into a situation where we do not have the upper hand."

A smile tugged at his lips as she wrinkled her nose.

"Their security system barely exists." She gestured towards the front of the building. "Those cameras aren't even real."

"I know."

Her forehead creased as she stared at the windows. "You could just walk into the place, lie your way past that receptionist, or hell, just wait until she falls asleep again and take the files without anyone noticing."

"I know."

Her mouth dropped open a little and she turned towards him. "You're not breaking in there today. You've already done the job."

"Yeah, about a week ago. The receptionist's name is Cindy, by the way. She's going to night school to be a truck driver."

"Why are we here?" She was containing things pretty well but annoyance still prickled against him when he brushed the edges of her mind.

"It is a fucking gorgeous day. We've been hanging around the apartment too much. You and Nick are both getting squirrely. You need sunshine, fresh air. You need to relax."

The barbs of her irritation spiked past her walls. "Peter, I have work to do." She tapped her fingers on her thigh.

"There's a time and place for work, 'Livia."

She snorted. "Like you would know anything about that. You can't even be bothered to be serious about anything when you're _at_ work. And you shouldn't drag Nick into it. You'll get him in trouble."

"I don't _drag_ Nick into anything. He's capable of deciding whether or not he wants to pay attention in those god-awful meetings on his own."

"He doesn't pay attention because he's playing with you."

"He doesn't pay attention because the meetings are ridiculously boring. What the hell is your problem?"

"Why can't you take anything seriously?"

"Certain things are not worth taking seriously, including those stupid staff meetings" He stole a glance at her face. "You know, unquestioning loyalty is not a good look on you."

She thinned her lips to an irritated line. "This is what we do, Peter."

"I'm not saying is isn't, it's just… there's no reason you have to take it so seriously. I don't get why you have to be so blindly loyal to them that you can't even relax.

The despair in her voice hurt him. "What else do I have?" She fidgeted with the zipper of her jacket and pinned her eyes on the sandwich shop across the street. "You want some lunch?"

"Sure, Olivia." His voice was resigned and he regretted pushing so hard.

She was moving away instantly and her watched her flee. The self-appointed task would give her time to order her thoughts. His eyes shifted to a skinny teenager who was nearing the bench.

The kid had been working the pedestrian traffic since they got there. It wasn't the best of locations, not many tourists or out-of-towners here. The locals flowed past him like he wasn't there. It was a matter of time before the kid made his way to Peter. He looked around for Olive, ready to leave but she was still in line at the restaurant.

"Hey, man."

Peter fixed his eyes on the building across the street. It would be easy to ignore him like the rest of the cooperate sheep. Clearly the kid was used to it -- he wasn't just starting out at this gig -- and he'd just move on to the next mark. Peter sighed a little and met the kid's eyes.

"Yeah."

The kid started a little at the eye contact but covered it quickly. He was grubby but not dirty. A few scabs on his jaw from who knows what. Long sleeves to cover his arms and Peter's eyes lingered there.

"Got any change, man?"

"Pull up your sleeves."

The kid's eyes widened then narrowed. He tilted his head defiantly. "You got anything for me or not."

Peter met the kid's eyes again and was torn between apologizing and lecturing. Neither would do any good and he was digging around in his pockets for money when Olive returned. Her eyes were pinned on the kid, wary. She was shooing the kid away with her thoughts until Peter quieted her.

Peter took his sandwich from Olive and handed it to the kid.

"Uh. Thanks." The kid fled, glancing over his shoulder before he rounded the corner.

Olive sat on the bench next to him and was silent for a while.

"You want me to get you another sandwich?"

Her voice covered the hurt well. His time away from them, after she'd blocked him, wasn't really anything that any of them wanted to be reminded of. That she had been completely wrong made it even worse.

Peter cleared his throat. "No. Thanks."

She offered him half of her sandwich. He couldn't quite bring himself to smile but he let her feel his gratitude when their fingers brushed.

They sat long after they'd finished the sandwich, watching people pass them by, holding up the walls between them so they were alone with their thoughts.

*****

The edge of the newspaper was full of little spirals she had drawn, the puzzles around the crossword covered in geometric patterns that obscured them completely. Olive printed "phonogram" into the little boxes and crossed through the clue. She liked the combination of words and numbers, the pattern of shapes made by the boxes. It gave her something to think about other than Peter and she'd been trying to not think about Peter since she got home. Guilt bubbled up again, roiled in her stomach, and she closed her eyes and tried to force her mind back to the present, force it away from the game of what ifs it tried to play when she considered how badly she'd fucked up after Walter had died.

The evening-time noises of the apartment hovered on the edge of her awareness, soothing now instead of irritating. It was an old building, full of too-small apartments, full of people. The noise had bothered her at first after the stillness of their quarters at the school. The dormitories when they were younger were rarely noisy. Good soundproofing and subdued children made for a stillness unmatched in the outside world. Even the normal kids, the ones who weren't recruits, eventually picked up the habit of being quiet. She and Nick had been there longer than most, had lived there longer than anywhere else their whole lives, and adjusting to living on their own had been hard, at least for her.

The lack of routine sent her reeling during the first few weeks. She just didn't know what people did all day. She had laid awake at night struggling to tune out the noise, fought to keep her mind from cataloging every sound from the pipes clanging to the woman downstairs yelling at her kids to get to bed. A few days in, exhausted and whiny, she let Nick send her spiraling to unconsciousness rather than spend another sleepless night staring at the ceiling.

Nick had settled in far quicker than she had. Within the first few days he knew most of their neighbors by name, had ranged around the neighborhood finding shops and restaurants and a place that rented video games. He had found the skatepark and she figured she'd never get him to do anything else after that. His giddy joy at their newfound freedom bled over to her eventually and she got used to things. They were trained to adapt and she did so. She hadn't noticed when she'd started liking it, when the tiny apartment became home.

She felt Nick bouncing up the stairs, heard his keys jangling before he got to the door. Sounds of his bag dropping to the floor, shoes kicked off, bare feet padding across the worn linoleum. Heat of his body behind her, the crackly smell of dust and under that the salty, golden scent of his warm skin.

"Have fun with Peter?"

She made a face at the crossword puzzle. "Not really." She filled in "repossess" with neat letters and lay the pen down on the newspaper, aligning it with the direction of the center fold. The scent of newsprint when she rubbed her fingers together was cold and just a little purple. "You get things arranged at the site?"

Nick caught the shift of her mood and pushed the thoughts about the kids away, walled them off in the part of his mind that was his alone. "Yeah. Cake." He bent and kissed the top of her head. "You okay, Olive?"

She leaned back and looked up at him. "I'm good." The smile hit her lips a moment too late, though, forced there as an afterthought to sell the words.

The upside down kiss made her giggle but anxiety lurked behind the sound. He stroked her cheek and tried to calm her but he was too wound up from the site, echoed her anxiousness back to her. She stretched up, pressed harder against him and nipped at his upper lip.

His voice was sing-song when he drawled her name. "Ol-live."

She grinned at that, hot and feral, and stood. Before she could turn he kicked the chair out of the way and crowded her against the table. He pushed the waves of her hair to one side and kissed the back of her neck, scraping his teeth over her skin. He ran his tongue over a cluster of tiny round scars leftover from one fucking test or another. He splayed his hand against her stomach and pulled her back. The little growling sound she made when she rubbed her ass against him made him throb.

They were both working off their pants, pushing clothing just far enough down their legs. Nick leaned over her, sweaty palms skidding over the surface of the table. They surged deep into each other's mind and they both moaned in unison when he pushed into her. His fingers on her hips, digging in hard enough to leave bruises, sent a hot spike of pleasure through her. They moved together, chaotic, until the heat of her was enough to send him tumbling over the edge dragging her along after him.

*****

Peter keyed himself into his apartment and did a quick sweep of the place, out of habit. Not that it took long given that he lived in a postage stamp sized apartment, but the routine set him at ease. A headache hovered at the base of his skull, a multitude of memories threatened to overwhelm him. He checked the closet, feeling like a kid looking for the boogieman.

The bed creaked under his weight when he sat on the end. After four years, the room was still bare. The walls had been a dingy beige when he had moved in and Olive had insisted on painting the apartment. She'd hung a couple framed posters in the living room, too, out of some strange nesting instinct she'd picked up after she and Nick moved out on their own. He hadn't done anything to the place himself other than buy some cheap furniture and a set of plates. He'd been here longer than anywhere since Walter died but Peter still couldn't shake the feeling that the rug was going to be pulled out from under him any second. He remembered the smudgy bruises under the kid's eyes and tugged his sleeves down from where he'd pushed them above his elbows.

He was at Nick and Olive's all the time anyway. His own apartment was just a place to sleep. Theirs was something closer to home.

Thinking about them nearly relaxed his guard enough to open their connection. He snapped the walls back in place. The comfort he usually took from their presence in his mind was unwelcome that night, the flickers of togetherness that leaked across just reinforced that while they had welcomed him back in their lives, trusted him as part of their little team, the two of them were partners in ways he was excluded from. The bursts of want and uncertainty that he got from Olive -- and occasionally Nick -- weren't enough to change anything. He was still very much alone. As alone as he could be with two other people lurking in the back of his mind. After bleak years of being on his own he liked having them near but it was still a bit like having roommates in an apartment with too-thin walls. He pushed off from the bed and stretched a little.

The kitchen was smaller than the backseat of his car and the hotel-sized fridge was empty. Its only purpose besides holding the occasional carton of leftover Thai food was to produce ice cubes. He fished a few cubes out of the tray and refilled it before splashing scotch into his glass. He debated heading down to the garage on the ground floor -- the only reason he'd rented the studio in the first place. The engine of the Honda was still in pieces. He drifted out to the couch instead, let the alcohol warm him from the inside out before he slipped into bed and slept uneasily, haunted by familiar dreams.


	3. Two

_Chapter Two: Every second, dripping off my fingertips._

Nick snapped awake, uncertain if he'd even been asleep. The bed was unfamiliar and something was missing. He buried his nose in the blankets and the scent of them sent anger sparking through him. He growled. There was an echoing growl from behind him. He rolled over, sat up and shuddered as a wave of nausea rolled over him. The floor was a checkerboard pattern, like the one in the dormitory when they were kids. The green squares looked wet and glossy and he didn't want to put his feet on them.

The shadow was crouching under the window, growling rhythmically. It looked like a cat today, like a skinny, starving stray. It opened its mouth and wisps of shadow bled out, drifted to the floor. He drew his feet up on the bed, hugged his knees to his chest but it was no good, the shadows were everywhere now. A long tendril snaked towards his foot and he scrambled backwards but the bed behind him disappeared and he was falling.

He snapped awake.

Olive grumbled in her sleep, clutching at his t-shirt. A frown creased her forehead and he ran his hand through her hair until she relaxed, the echoes of his nightmare sliding away from her. He took calming breaths until his heart stopped pounding, concentrated on the familiar stars glued to the ceiling. The last few weeks had been rough and his sleep was suffering from it.

More than his sleep, if he wanted to be honest. He was twitchy all the damn time now; coming home barely helped ease the tension that being on site caused. The worst of it was that it was starting to bleed over to Olive despite his best efforts to stay closed off from her. She'd finally caught on and started blocking as well, and that helped, but it wasn't enough. He'd have to try harder. She was away from the apartment more and more and that helped some, too.

Jealously flickered up for a moment but he brushed it away. Better she was spending time with Peter than him right now. Peter was better at keeping her even than he was under the best of circumstances. Besides, they were both idiots and wouldn't even acknowledge their feelings, let alone act on them. The way they freaked out whenever they got too close would be amusing if it wasn't so stupid.

He pulled Olive closer and kissed her forehead. They'd have to deal with that someday. Eventually he'd have to force the issue because they clearly were too dense to figure it out on their own. Not now, though, not when he was so distracted but this stupid job. They were getting nowhere with the study, finding no reason for the results to be off. If it was just this site they'd chalk it up to the sleeper interfering unconsciously and scrub the site, but the one out west hadn't had that variable. There was something else. They just couldn't find it.

He hoped they found it soon. He was sick to fucking death of feeling like this.

"Hrrmmm."

He chuckled as Olive nuzzled his neck, clinging to sleep as long as she could. "Sleepy thing."

She yawned. "'M awake."

"Sure you are."

"Am so."

She stretched against him, yawned again, blinked at him with sleepy hazel eyes. He felt her push lightly at the barriers and a frown creased her forehead. He frowned back. It was too much fucking work to bring the things up and down all the damn time. He was tired of her constantly testing the walls. He pushed her away.

She sat up on the bed and folded her legs under her. The pale hazel of her eyes caught the morning light and glowed like gems. She stared at him like he was a particularly annoying puzzle. His skin prickled and crawled under her scrutiny.

"What, Olive?"

She dropped her eyes and wrapped the fingers of one hand around her other wrist, digging her thumb into her skin. She knew why he was holding his mind away from hers but it still hurt. She ghosted along the edge of their connection, worried by the thought that it was far more dim than usual. Nick was hiding so well he was just a shadow in her mind. "You're just never around anymore. I miss you."

He sat up and mirrored her posture. He caught her hand in his and stilled her fingers. "I know." He stroked his thumb across the back of her hand. He didn't know what else to say. They had this conversation every morning now.

"Come running with me?"

He frowned. "Nah, I gotta get to work."

"Nick…"

"Olive, I'm working. I wanna get this fucking job over with."

She pushed away from the bed and pulled on a jogging outfit. "An hour to go for a run with me isn't going make any difference." She paused at the door. "You never want to spend time with me anymore."

"Me? You're the one who's never here. Go ask Peter if he wants to go running with you." Her back stiffened at the words and he knew if he let her she'd be throwing spikes of hurt and shame along their link. She left the apartment without saying anything else.

It was just as well. He was tired of her picking fights with him.

He scratched absently at his arm, wincing when his fingers hit a scab.

*****

The office sucked. The dust made Nick's eyes itchy and the lighting was awful. No matter how he adjusted his chair he couldn't get comfortable at the desk; he'd taken to kicking his feet up on the surface and balancing his laptop on his legs. Harley had apologized a few days in and they worked out a compromise on how often he was actually on site. It was just as easy to work at home. He came in for interviews and spent at least one day a week there to get a feel for the place.

Even that was too much. The effort of keeping them out was exhausting.

The normal kids were bad enough. Their emotions spilled out all over the place but they were just regular emotions, not much different than being in any crowded building. The kids in the test were like spotlights compared to candles, everything amplified, threaded through with dark overtones. Being in a room with them made him nervous, made him actively keep his defenses up.

Nick envied how easy it was for Olive and Peter to keep other people out of their heads. They had to go looking for ways into other people's minds, Peter especially. He did fine between the three of them but other people were difficult for him without help. A smile flitted across Nick's face -- he and Olive had helped Peter cheat on his tests for years before anyone figured it out.

He sighed and flipped through a folder and decided he should take a few days off and hang out with Peter. Nick missed his friend but it went beyond that. Peter was as much Nick's support as Olive's. Their keepers had expected their triad to follow tidy lines strengths and weaknesses, had expected two distinct partnerships that each shared one soldier. The three of them had tossed that notion aside when they were still children. They needed each other and when they were all focused together it was perfection.

Nick laughed softly. It was too bad that two of them were idiots and couldn't see past the work to understand that need extended to everything.

He stood and stretched, glanced behind him. Something in the back of the room dripped intermittently. He'd tried to find what it was but it was coming from behind one of the big metal cabinets. The cabinet itself was filled with ancient textbooks, far too heavy to move. He'd gotten a flashlight and tried to look behind it but it was too close to the wall. He ignored the sound as well as he could. When it was too distracting to ignore he wandered around the school.

After he'd described the place to Peter he'd pronounced it "creepy as fuck" and Nick didn't really disagree.

It wasn't a school at all, or rather it hadn't started out as a school. It was an old hospital, seriously something straight out of Silent Hill. The lower level and part of the second floor had been remolded into classrooms but it still retained an institutional feel that made his skin crawl. The untouched part of the second floor was a mess of narrow hallways and tiny storage rooms. The windows all seemed to be in exactly the wrong place to let in much light or they were taped over with old newspapers. The rooms held a bewildering range of crap, from more books to old surgical tools. A few rooms still had beds in them. One had clearly been repurposed by member of the staff as their own personal nap room. The thought of sleeping there made Nick shudder.

The teacher's lounge was usually deserted this time of morning. It smelled of burnt coffee. There was a noisy old refrigerator against one wall next to a snack machine. A skinny man with curly red hair was trying to get the machine to take a dollar bill. He glanced over his shoulder when Nick entered the room.

"Mr. Lane. Let you out of the dungeon, I see."

Milan Fitzgerald had been teaching for ten years, had been at the school for the last six. During their initial interview Nick had skimmed lightly over the man's mind before reeling back from the disorganized images of violence and destruction, jumbled fantasies that made Nick's skin crawl.

Disturbing but contained, not relevant to the trials. He'd escalate eventually. Once they were clear of the site Nick would request clean up for him.

Nick smiled and held up the soda he'd pulled from the fridge. "They let me out to forage occasionally."

Fitzgerald laughed, a booming sound that was too large for the room.

The paper was sticking out from under the fridge, one ragged corner visible against the dingy floor. A crayon drawing of a cat, but the cat wasn't so much a cat as a cat-shaped shadow. There were spirals around the edge like what Olive drew on everything. Nick liked cats -- they reminded him of Olive. He'd wanted to get one when they moved into the apartment but after five minutes at the animal shelter looking at kittens Olive had been sniffling and miserable, eyes red and ugly welts forming on her hand where one of the cats had scratched her.

He took the drawing back to his horrible office.

*****

It was dripping again when he got back. He taped the drawing to one of the shelves and flopped down at the desk. The sleeper's file was open on his laptop, just the school file. Her real file was on the server but he didn't access that at the school. Laura Peddington hadn't been terribly promising so she'd been released from training relatively early, memories scoured from her mind. Even without assistance he didn't think she'd remember him -- she just hadn't been around long enough. She seemed nice enough, she was good with kids and got along well with her co-workers. He caught a few stray thoughts that edged toward panic, some nameless fear that crept around the edges of her mind. They only came up when he asked about work but didn't seem directly related to the kids. He decided it was professional insecurity but relayed the information to Harley anyway. It was probably nothing.

He tapped his pen against the bottle of soda that was pooling condensation into a circle on his desk, echoing the rhythm of the dripping. The droplets slid down the side in shivering bursts, falling time with the pen hitting it, in time with the water dripping in the back of the room. He was tapping along with it, hitting the erratic beat in perfect time. He concentrated on the sound, the pattern, the meaning. It meant something. It had to but it was just out of reach. He wanted to reach out with his mind and find the sound, follow it back to the meaning. Before he could figure it out it stopped.

He listened to the rattling of the air conditioning, the distant sounds of the kids laughing and talking in the halls between classes, closer sounds of teachers in the lounge. The air in the room was hot. It burned his eyes. He stuffed his laptop in his backpack and grabbed his helmet off the floor next to the desk. He was nearly running when he got to the hallway. His hands were shaking when started his bike. He took a roundabout way home.

*****

Peter nudged the door to P. King and Associates Architectural Services and tried not to drop the armful of blueprints, his cup of coffee or his keys. The front office was dingy, furnished in drab industrial style leftover from the pervious tenant. He hit the light switch with his elbow and ignored the flashing light on the answering machine on the desk and continued to the back office.

They had gutted the two back rooms, found hardwood floors under the disgusting carpet and pressed-tin ceilings under the moldy drop-tiles. Light streamed through the tall, narrow windows. When the previous owner decided to get out of the rental business they'd bought the building rather than give up the office. Olive already had a property management group working for her. He figured in a few years she'd own half of Boston.

He put the rolled blueprints into temporary storage until he could find time to bind them and get them into one of the vertical file units that lined one wall of the room. He really needed to digitize them but he didn't have the time or resources and he didn't want to involve anyone in the ZFT. This was more of a personal project. Nick thought he was being paranoid but Nick always thought he was being paranoid.

Peter frowned at his coffee.

Nick was being weird. Weirder than usual. The job was eating up all of his time and although it wasn't that unusual for one of them to be preoccupied with work, this felt different. This worried him. Peter knew the response he'd get from Nick if he brought it up, though. He'd get the same from Olive. The two of them were good little soldiers, single-minded in their attention to their assignments.

He snorted. As single-minded as they could be given how deeply they lived in each other's heads. The years Peter spent on his own had tempered his desire to leave himself open. It was comforting having them where he could get to them if he needed them but the constant, open link that they maintained between each other was too much for him to sustain. Another thing in a long list that set him apart from them.

Here in his own space, walled off from them, Peter let himself feel everything that he tried to keep from Nick and Olive. He hated the bond between them sometimes, how it yoked the three of them together but he got screwed out of the relationship that Nick and Olive had. Maybe if he'd been around more when they were kids, if Walter hadn't tried to shelter him, if he hadn't bolted and been cut off when Walter died…

He couldn't really follow through that thought with much enthusiasm. He loved Nick as much as anyone and even idle theorizing about stealing Olive away left Peter feeling guilty.

He sighed and turned his attention to the blueprints spread on the table. The modern one was nothing special, but the original from the 50's was fantastic. Side-by-side the two showed him the dead space left by remodeling and restructuring. Plenty of room to work with. He smiled and set about mapping his way into the heart of the building.

*****

The drive to the site was the only good thing about the job. It was especially good on his bike. Nick could ditch the freeway and take surface streets and back roads most of the way there. It tacked about 45 minutes on to the trip but it was worth it. The air was crisp and smelled earthy, smelled like dry leaves and grass. Drifts of leaves piled up on the narrow roads overnight and swirled after him.

On the drive with the miles blurring by him, the loneliness felt overwhelming. Keeping his mental walls up so long left him feeling isolated. It was almost enough to make him reach for Olive, but he held back. The assignment would be over soon enough. They should take a long weekend and drive somewhere before it got too cold, just him and Olive.

If Olive would even go somewhere with him. She was being bitchier than usual. He frowned and thought maybe that wasn't quite right but he hit the curvy part of the road that was awesome to ride and gunned the engine and didn't think about anything else for the rest of the drive.

*****

The cat-thing crouched on the dry erase board and it took Nick a moment to realize it was drawn there. Laura Peddington looked up from her desk.

"Mr. Lane, right? Or is it Dr. Lane."

He tore his eyes away from the board and smiled at her. "Nick is fine. Nice to meet you Laura. Thanks for taking the time to talk with me this morning." She came around the desk and shook his hand. He got a sense of nervousness from her but it was muted. Unsurprising, really. Most of the recruits, even the ones that never advanced into the ranks of soldiers retained the ability to shield their thoughts from casual inspection.

"You're welcome."

He gestured to the board. "That's an interesting drawing."

"Oh!" She swept an eraser over the lines. "I was working late last night and got a little bored." She smiled at him. "So… what can I do for you?"

"Well, I just have a few questions. Standard stuff about teaching methods, lesson plans, that sort of thing. Let's get started."

*****

Nick powered off his laptop and stuffed his notes from the interview with Laura into a folder. He rolled his shoulders and stood up to stretch. Laura was cheerful and competent, slightly insecure. After gently steering the conversation off course he determined that she had no recollection of her involvement with the organization. She remembered a happy, boring childhood.

He opened the folder and flipped through the notes again. He felt like he was forgetting something. His eyes were itching again. The letters shimmered on the paper and faded around the edges, became shadows of themselves. The center of the lines of the letters burned his eyes but he could just make out something behind them if he stared. They were like looking though narrow little windows. He clenched his eyes closed and rubbed at them.

His breath caught in his throat as he looked up at the door. Class had let out and he could hear the kids spilling out into the hallways, brash and loud. Their voices were shrill and hurt his ears. The hairs at the back of his neck stood on end and the skin between his shoulder blades prickled. Something was behind him, watching. He hated this place with its noisy kids and stupid adults. He hated being watched.

He slammed out of the office and headed home.

*****

Olive shifted on the uncomfortable kitchen chair, pushed back from the table and stretched her arms over her head. She looked around at the papers that covered the table and most of the meager counter space. She'd even tacked a few things up on the refrigerator with magnets. Not the best workspace but it would do.

She'd abandoned their shared office days ago. It was technically the master bedroom but using it as office space had seemed far more practical and they'd wedged their bed in the tiny second bedroom. It was usually ideal, but lately the rooms seemed far too small for them both to occupy at the same time. She'd been staying up late and working, sleeping on the couch rather than risk waking Nick up when she went to bed. He slipped out of the apartment or into the office before she woke up. She suspected he was holding her asleep when he did, keeping her from waking up.

Uneasiness settled in her stomach. She shuffled the papers around the table again but couldn't concentrate, couldn't focus. She tapped absently at her laptop and piped the data into a classification tree, watched it render. The closed door of the office drew her eyes again and again. Nick had been holed up in there all day. She'd braved his glares and icy silence long enough to retrieve a few files earlier that morning and then had left him alone. She was tired of the feeling that he was looking for reasons to pick fights with her.

She paced across the room and poked around in the fridge, coming up empty. The frown that creased her face was as puzzled as it was unhappy. Their fridge was never empty, not unless Nick was away on assignment. She looked at the office door again.

She rattled the doorknob a little, pushed the door open slowly.

"Um. Nick?"

He was hunched over the desk, scribbling at a piece of paper. All the lights in the room were on despite the sunlight streaming through the windows. She edged in, moving towards him at an angle so he could see her from the corner of his eye.

"You wanna take a break? You've been in here a while. We could go get something to eat?"

She dropped her fingers to the back of his neck, pushed gently against the wall he'd brought up between them. He batted her hand away and lashed at her across their link. Pain burst through her mind, bright and hot and she bit her lip to keep from crying out. The pain left red afterimages in front of her eyes.

"Fuck off, Olive. I'm trying to work."

She backed into the doorframe and gaped at him. He looked at her, at her messy hair and hurt eyes, the black t-shirt and faded jeans, bare feet and painted toenails. He expected her to look different, expected her to be different. He thought she was someone else. She wheeled and fled the room. He heard the front door slam a few minutes later. He dropped his head to his hands, rubbed at his eyes.

The words on the papers were swirling around again, changing in front of his eyes. He thought they weren't supposed to do that but he wasn't sure. The thing in the corner was watching him again. He didn't want to look at it but the way it writhed at the edge of his vision drew his eyes. The skin along his forearm skittered and crawled. He dug his fingers in, scratching viscously.

He looked over at the thing. "You made me do that." He thought maybe its eyes blinked. He thought maybe it had eyes. He looked over the papers again. The drawing was sticking out from one of the folders. "You keep moving that, don't you?"

"Who the fuck are you talking to? And why are you sitting in the dark?"

Peter was standing in the doorway frowning at him. The room was dark; it was dark outside.

Nick blinked. "Where's Olive?" His voice sounded hollow. Wrong. He sounded exhausted and thought that maybe he was exhausted.

The frown deepened. "Why are you asking me? You live with her."

Nick tried to remember. He reached tentatively along their connection but she was closed off completely. She'd been like that for days. Weeks maybe. Longer than she'd ever shut him out before. He could just barely feel her and something wasn't right about that. She shouldn't be able to hide from him. "I uh, I might have pissed her off. I think." Nick rubbed at the raw scratches on his arm.

"You _think_? It's usually not that hard to tell if you've pissed her off. She's not exactly subtle in her anger." Peter waited for a laugh at that, a chuckle at least, maybe vague agreement. Nick was staring at him, blank and lost. Peter watched him closely for a few minutes. "You okay?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine."

"Right." Peter turned the light on and dropped into the chair at Olive's desk. "Everything's fine."

Nick glared at him and turned back to the papers but the words flickered on the pages. They made his head hurt.

"Nick, seriously, what the fuck is going on?"

He ignored Peter. Peter made him nervous. Peter watched him too closely.

"You wanna take a break? I got the new Grand Theft Auto game." Peter stared at the back of Nick's head. "Maybe go down to the skatepark? You could make fun of how bad I am."

Nick was writing something but Peter got the feeling he was just making random marks on the paper.

"Alright. Fine. When you get tired of being a dick, let me know."

*****

Peter threw his jacket to the floor just inside the door and made it nearly to the bedroom before he turned back to it, scooped it up and hung it in the tiny pantry he used as a coat closet. Since he was in the kitchen anyway he poured himself a scotch. The confrontation with Nick left him jittery, worried for reasons that danced away when he tried to pin them down. His friendship with Nick was one of the best parts of being roped back into the ZFT family, but he didn't really know how to deal with Nick, exactly. That was Olive's job. Most days he was content to consider Nick his friend. Sometimes when Olive was away or was too shaky he was Nick's support, grounding him when his ability connected him with someone that left him raw and vulnerable. Peter struggled with that -- it scraped up feelings he'd rather ignore. He toed his shoes off and put them on the little rack in the pantry.

He should go down to the garage, maybe tear into the engine on the bike Nick had bought for Olive. That had been collecting dust for a while. Every so often she made noises about wanting it back but nothing serious yet. She didn't really like riding it but an extra bike was still useful to have on hand. He refilled his glass and was grabbing his keys when she knocked on the door.

Olive was underdressed for the cool evening, bare arms wrapped around herself. She shifted anxiously, settling her weight from one leg to the other. She had on sandals, the red flip-flops she only wore to take out the garbage or run across the street to the 7-Eleven. She wouldn't meet his eyes.

"Hi." Soft and clipped and something was wrong.

"Olivia."

Her eyes were flicking around, cataloging his apartment, probably making a list of changes to the place since he last time she'd been there, working out how many millimeters to the left his couch had shifted, the number of DVDs on the shelf next to the TV. Who the hell knew with her; all he could feel was the steady beat of her counting something. She opened her mouth a few times. She frowned and stared at his bare feet. He stepped back and ushered her in with a gesture.

He watched her cross the room. The view from his window was of the rundown building next to his but she twitched the blinds aside anyway. Wherever her mind was, he was pretty sure she wasn't seeing the building anyway. He brushed against the edge of her thoughts and caught hurt and confusion before she skittered away, not closing herself off but staying out of reach. She was still hugging her arms to herself and he got her one of his sweatshirts, frowned when she pulled it on without arguing.

"You want something to drink?" It was a stupid offer. She rarely drank anything stronger than beer and she had bewildering issues with tap water.

"No, I'm okay."

He thought for a moment. "Wanna watch something?"

She lifted a shoulder in a shrug.

He sighed. "You mind if I watch something?"

She turned and looked at him. Her eyes were vividly green against the reddened skin. "No… that's okay."

The care and feeding manual for Olivia Dunham was woefully sketchy but he had a lifetime of practice. Pushing now would result in anger, send her fleeing after a monumental temper tantrum. Nothing to do but wait her out.

He flipped around the channels for a while before giving up and putting in a Dr. Who DVD. Olive eventually settled on the other end of the couch, knees pulled up to her chest and her head resting on her arms. She sniffled occasionally and he had to swallow hard against the hurt that leaked over from her. Half way through the second episode she glanced over at him without lifting her head.

"Hey, Peter?"

"Hmm."

"Can I stay here tonight?"

"Olivia… what the hell happened today?"

Her eyes darted to his face then away. The fingers of one of her hands were tucked into the sleeve of the sweatshirt, digging into her arm hard enough to leave bruises. He wanted to grab her hands and make her stop. "We just… it's nothing. Nick and I just had a fight, that's all."

"You and Nick don't fight."

She shrugged and stared at the floor. She traced a pattern on the couch cushion between them. "We fight sometimes." Guilt leaked over their connection as she pulled her walls closer to her like she did when she was trying to lie to him.

His eyes followed her finger as it drew spirals across the fabric. He took a chance with the question. "What did you fight about?"

Her finger stopped moving and she clenched her hand into a fist. He could feel her retreating and fought the urge to take her hand and ground her in the moment. She looked frightened for a moment before she blinked the expression away and forced a smile. "Nothing. It was nothing."

"Right. Nothing."

"Peter… just…" She shook her head and her hair swept in front of her face. She turned back towards the TV. She rubbed at her eyes and pushed her hair back, trying to disguise the motion of wiping away her tears. He wanted to pull her into his arms.

"Hey."

She looked over at him without lifting her head.

"Ready for bed?"

"Yeah." The laugh she chuffed out was bitter. "Long day." She stood and stretched. "So. Blankets?"

He frowned at her. "You can have my bed if you want."

She frowned back. "That's… I'll take the couch. I don't want to put you out or anything."

"I'm not going to make you sleep on my couch."

"What's wrong with your couch?"

"Nothing's wrong with it, it's just… you don't have to sleep on it."

"Peter, just get me a blanket."

He sighed and decided he was just too tired to argue with her.

*****

It was still dark when he woke, faint noises in the living room pulling him out of dreams of being chased through narrow hallways. She was out the door, closing it quietly behind her before he was coherent enough to think about checking on her. He stared at the ceiling for a while but there was no way he was going to get back to sleep. The dream left his skin crawling. He was worried about Olive.

He reached out along their connection and brushed up against the wall. They'd perfected various barriers between them as they'd grown up, different levels of privacy and urgency to the walls. This was the polite wall, the one that was smooth and gray and indicated that she'd really just rather be left alone, thanks very much. He preferred it to the jagged leave-me-the-fuck-alone wall she sometimes erected.

He eased away from her and felt around for Nick. Nick had always been better at hiding but he usually left a trace of himself. Peter groped until his head was aching but came up with nothing. He wasn't as good as they were. Some of the innate ease of wandering into their minds had been lost when he'd been on his own but it was more than that. He struggled with his ability, always had. Deep in the core of his thoughts that were his and his alone he thought they'd have been better off without him weighing them down.

He wandered out to the living room and curled up under the blanket that smelled like her and tried to get a few more hours of sleep.

*****

Olive opened the door quietly, eased herself into the apartment like she was breaking in to the place. She swept over the room, leading with her mind and following with her eyes. Nick's bike wasn't outside but she still checked the apartment to make sure she was alone, looking in each room in turn. She wasn't sure she could find him with her mind right now if he really didn't want her to feel him. She wasn't sure she wanted to find him with her mind right now.

She swallowed hard against the tightness in her throat.

She ended the sweep of the apartment in the kitchen and her eyes landed on a plastic container on the table. There was a note on top of it.

Olive --

Sorry I was acting like a jerk yesterday.

N

She pulled the lid off the container and smiled. Oatmeal cookies with no raisins. She didn't like food with other food in it and raisins were too sticky -- they were hard to pick out of cookies. The note made her uneasy but the cookies were her favorite. She ate one and counted the rest of the cookies in the box. She wanted another one but she'd have to eat three to keep the numbers right so she closed the box again. She traced the "N" on the note with her fingernail.

The office door was open a little, sunlight spilling though the crack and painting a yellow stripe across the hallway. She watched dust motes swirl through it, sparkling briefly when the light hit the particles. The tiny golden sparks were the same color as the threads she saw in her mind when she thought about her connection to Nick. She drummed her fingers on the top of the plastic box and blinked back the tears that stung her eyes.

Olive pushed the door open with her foot and looked around the room again. Their desks were on opposite sides of the room, the walls between them lined with bookshelves. The row of windows along the outside wall let sunlight stream into the room through the sheer curtains with tiny flowers embroidered on them. Nick had teased her about the curtains but she thought they looked nice. The closet held filing cabinets and the big gun safe, assorted computer parts and random electronics. Messy things she didn't like looking at all the time.

Her eyes settled on Nick's desk, on the stacks of folders. She pushed at one of the folders and slipped a finger under the cover, lifting it just a little to peek at the lines of his neat handwriting. She tilted her head so she could see inside it better and then let it drop closed with a little sigh.

Privacy had become an issue for them when she was twelve and for the first time in her life didn't want Nick and Peter crawling around in her mind. Their negotiation over that one had been messy at first, but the older they got the stronger the need had become. They each learned ways of keeping things to themselves, segmenting parts of their minds into public and private. She shared more with Nick than she did with Peter, but all of them had a space in their mind that the others wouldn't enter. She glanced over Nick's desk again. Her stomach felt jittery and unsettled at the thought of digging around in his things. She gave an unhappy little sigh and left the room.

She felt a little better after a shower and pulled on sweats and one of Nick's t-shirts. Their laundry was starting to overflow the basket in the closet and she nudged it back in with her foot and closed the door. She was tired. The unfamiliar sounds of Peter's apartment had kept her awake most of the night and when she did sleep nightmares hounded her. The rumpled blankets of their bed were cold when she crawled under them. She hugged Nick's pillow and tried to fall asleep.

*****

Peter nodded to the security guards at the front desk and made his way to the bank of elevators. He pressed his hand to a scanner next to the left-most door and was rewarded with a pleasant little chime and the door opening. There were no buttons in the interior, just dark wood and polished brass. The downtown office carried the old money theme a bit far, he thought, but it was still better than the futuristic glass and stark white polymers of the compound. The elevator deposited him on the 17th floor, in another lobby with another set of security guards and another bank of elevators. He swiped his palm across another scanner, rode up another two floors and made his way back to Harley's office.

The office was filled with baseball memorabilia, things Peter's practiced eye flagged as being rare and interesting. It lent an air of normalcy to the man that Peter wasn't quite comfortable with. He didn't like getting friendly with any of their handlers -- the track record showed that wasn't a good idea.

Peter nodded and dropped into a chair. "Harley."

"Peter. Great to see you."

He made a noncommittal noise in response and held out the disc. "Files from the law firm."

"Oh, good. Any problems getting them?"

The laugh slipped out despite his efforts. "Ah. No, not at problem. Could have done it in my sleep. Look… Harley, these jobs I've been working lately. Isn't there someone else who could be doing this bullshit?"

Harley laughed. "I know you've been a little bored lately. Hopefully this will make it up to you." The handler slid a folder across the desk.

Peter scanned the documents and felt a flicker of interest. The security looked tight, the site was isolated and getting in would be a bitch. A smile tugged at his lips.

"So, whatever resources you need. And take your time. It's important that this stay quiet."

He nodded absently. "Sure. Yeah."

Peter was almost to the door when he turned and offered a smile that was nearly real. "Thanks."

"Certainly."

*****

The aerial recognizance section was one of Peter's favorite places. The wall-sized banks of monitors displayed satellite imaging in minute detail, let him case the site before he got anywhere near it. There were terrain overlays, road overlays, intricately detailed mapping that appealed to Peter on a level he couldn't quite explain. It was a thing of beauty.

"Mr. Bishop."

Peter's eyes flicked up at the familiar voice.

"Ms. Sharp. I didn't expect to see you here."

"Putting in an appearance at the Board of Directors meeting." Her eyes drifted to the map. "Yegar Laboratories, if I'm not mistaken."

Peter raised an eyebrow but wasn't really surprised that she recognized the place so quickly. The woman seemed to be everywhere within the organization. Peter wondered when she found time to sleep.

"Anything I need to know about this?"

"Nothing relevant. For someone with your talents I would expect the extraction to be more than manageable."

Peter let a slow grin spread over his face. "And what, exactly, am I extracting?"

Nina's answering grin was toothy. "Peter. You should know by now that if I tell you I'd have to kill you."

His laugh was genuine.

Nina's expression turned serious after a moment. "You might consider taking Olive or Nick with you to handle the personnel. The lab's employees are quite loyal and well disciplined. None of them have any particular ability but they will be difficult to influence."

Peter nodded. "I'll keep that in mind."

The PDA she carried chimed. "Duty calls."

*****

Peter rattled his keys and stared at the doorknob. The movement towards knocking felt like he was trying to lift a car and he just rested his hand on the door for a while before completing it. He wasn't used to feeling unwelcome but neither of them wanted company right now. He knocked anyway.

Olive's face was carefully blank when she opened the door. They watched each other and he resisted reaching along their link. Her hair was pulled into a knot, errant waves escaping. There were shadows under her eyes. She wordlessly let him inside and retreated to the kitchen. He followed, frowning.

"What's wrong with the office?"

She lifted one shoulder in a shrug. "Nothing."

He scooped up a stack of papers from a chair and set them on the floor. He pushed some of Olive's files aside and rested his elbows on the table letting the dossier dangle between them. She pulled her laptop closer and ignored him.

He tapped his fingers on the back of her computer and she rewarded him with a glare.

"What?"

"I've got a job. You two should come with me. I could use the help."

She shook her head and hair spilled loose over her eyes. She made a face and raked her fingers through her hair, pulling it back from her face. "No."

"Olivia, come on."

"Peter, I don't… "

The door to the office slammed open and Nick walked into the kitchen. He didn't glance at either of them. Peter could possibly have chalked the snub up to preoccupation the pangs of hurt that spiked off of Olive made him think it was deliberate.

"Hey."

Nick grabbed a soda from the fridge and stalked back towards the office.

Peter pushed away fro the table and stood. "Nick!"

Nick blinked a few times and looked at Peter with cloudy, bloodshot eyes. He seemed a little startled to see him.

"Yeah, what?"

"Job." Peter waved the folder at him.

Nick snorted. "I'm already working on something, thanks."

"Come on. This'll be fun. Get out of town a few days. Maybe blow a building up?" He tried to grin but couldn't quite pull it off.

"I'm busy."

Olive's quiet voice brought them both up short. "I'll go with you."

Confusion creased Peter's forehead. "What?"

Nick snarled. "Oh, sure. You guys go off without me."

Peter turned on Nick and threw his hands up. "What the fuck, Nick? You just said you didn't want to go."

"I didn't know it was so fun that both of you wanted to run off to it. You always leave me behind when you do stuff like that."

"You're being fucking irrational. It's just a job. If you don't want to go, fine but don't flip the fuck out on me because you can't make up your mind."

"I'm not flipping out. You're treating me just like you did when we were kids. I'm not a child. You don't have to worry about me slowing you down anymore." His hands were balled into fists at his sides. The bloodshot cast to his eyes and the sneer that pulled at his lips gave him a feral look.

Peter narrowed his eyes. "You're off your fucking meds aren't you? You stopped taking them."

"Peter…" Olive's voice was low, warning him off. She was edging towards Nick, the motions of defending him instinctive for her.

Nick laughed, a short, bitter burst of sound. "I don't roll over and let the two of you walk all over me so I must be off my meds. Fuck you, Peter."

"You didn't exactly answer my question."

"No. I'm not stupid." Nick leveled his gaze at Peter and snarled.

"He didn't say you were stupid, Nick. He's just worried." Olive tried to catch his eyes but Nick didn't look away from Peter.

"Then why the fuck is he asking about my meds? I don't need him babysitting me."

Peter shook his head. "Nick. I just…"

"If you don't fucking trust me why do you want me around on your fucking job anyway?"

Nick fought down tears. He would not fucking cry in front of Peter. Peter would tease him. Peter shouldn't even be here, he was just a bully. Nick pushed at him, pushed him to leave, pushed him away.

Peter crossed his arms and scowled. "I just thought maybe you forgot. I didn't mean anything by it."

Nick darted his eyes between Peter and Olive. They were in it together, they always were. Olive was supposed to be there for him but the bitch always sided with Peter. Nick tried again, flung Peter away but he couldn't, nothing happened. He shivered and hugged his arms around himself.

"Fuck you." It came out more scared than anything and he turned on his heel and fled to the office.

Peter clenched his jaw and shoved past Olive on the way out of the apartment.

*****

She stared at the office door before whirling and following Peter. She took the steps two at a time and caught the front door of the building just as it was swinging shut.

"What the fuck was that?"

He slowed a few paces away from her and shoved his hands into the pockets of his coat. "Good question."

"Seriously, Peter, why were you being such an ass to him?

"Me? I'm sorry, were you only there for half of that conversation? You ask your boyfriend why he's being so fucking psycho."

"Don't call him that." Her hands clenched into fists and he could feel waves of hot anger rolling off of her, almost strong enough to mask the fear.

"What, boyfriend or psycho? I know you like to pretend he's neither when you get uncomfortable." It was a low blow and he regretted it immediately.

She went cold and still and Peter scrambled to bring his defenses up against whatever she was planning on throwing at him. Her eyes were wide and she was panting a little but the attack never came. Her eyes dropped from his and she was taking deep breaths, counting her heartbeats, lips moving slightly with the rhythm of the numbers.

Her voice was surprisingly steady. "He's not… he's just stressed out."

"Why do you keep making excuses for him?"

She shrugged helplessly. "I have to. I can't help it."

He stepped closer to her, almost within reach. "You defending him all the time isn't going to help anything. I know he doesn't like us to think he's weak and he's not, I know he's not but fuck, Olivia, neither of us can do any good for him if he keeps pushing us away. We've all got our problems, that doesn't mean we get to act like jerks to each other when we're working on something we don't like."

Her lips twisted to a bitter smile. "You act like a jerk all the time."

He looked away from her, fixed his eyes over her shoulder. He was too tired to deal with her tonight. "Fine. Look, if you want to go with me I'm leaving at eight."

She watched his retreating back, the slump of his shoulders. The argument had exhausted her. She felt tired enough to cry. The cold space where Nick should be in her mind made her shiver.

"Peter, wait."

He stopped and turned back to her.

She pulled at the hem of her shirt. She didn't want to go back upstairs.

"Let me go grab a bag, okay? I'll be back down in a few minutes."

*****

The clutter in their bedroom startled her, made her nervous. She thought about picking things up but the desire to leave was too strong. She kicked a pile of Nick's shirts out of her way. She grabbed a couple changes of clothing and stuffed them into her backpack, not even bothering to fold things. She could do that later. She swept her eyes around the room again, lingered on the bed she hadn't slept in for days, before heading down the hallway.

She stared at the doorknob. She didn't want to try the door. The thought of it being locked made her throat tight.

She tapped lightly with just her fingertips.

"Nick?"

A sweep of the room brought nothing more than a dim presence, barely detectable in her mind.

"I'm…" She swallowed hard. "I'm going to go with Peter on the job, okay?" She shifted her weight to her other foot. "It's just for a couple of days."

She wrapped her arms around herself and curled her fingers over her elbows. The pain of her fingernails digging into her skin grounded her -- that pain was familiar.

"I'm gonna crash at his place so we don't have to deal with traffic in the morning. He'd have to fight work traffic to get here to pick me up." If Nick bothered he'd be able to see through the lie easily. She wasn't really surprised that he didn't even try.

She dropped her forehead against the door.

"Nick?" Her voice got small and she clenched her eyes shut against the tears. "I love you."

It felt like hours that she waited, listening for anything beyond the door before she gave up.


	4. Three

_Chapter Three: Another soldier, says he's not afraid to die._

The four-hour drive turned into seven. Peter left the interstate just out of town, picked smaller and smaller roads until they were on a winding two-lane road that was crowded at the edge with dry, brown weeds. Olive didn't complain, didn't even question it and that worried him as much as anything that had been happening recently. He didn't want to bring it up, though, in case it sparked another fight. Being trapped in a car with an angry Olive was not high on his list of things to do. A sullen Olive wasn't all that much better but it was easier and less painful to tune her out. He let her brood and tried to enjoy the drive.

Autumn was well underway, and the vivid colors of the countryside were beautiful. He didn't really like autumn and the promise of the cold winter to come but the colors were almost an acceptable apology. Trees arched over the road making ragged tunnels for them to pass through and Olive relaxed slowly, responded when he pointed out a particularly vivid tree. She turned on the CD player after an hour or so, teased Peter about his choice of music.

The tension from the previous night bled away and they slipped into well-worn patterns, brushing against each other's mind for reassurance before retreating. Just her presence so close to him, the awareness of her proximity was enough to set him at ease. Peter was worried that he didn't feel the echo of her link to Nick, but the worry faded as he drove. She was smiling by the time they pulled up in front of the shabby motel that was just off the interstate despite their back road approach but there was a current of anxiousness under it, a keen awareness that they were very much alone. He gripped the steering wheel and listened to the engine cooling and considered for the first time that this might have been a very dumb idea. He got out of the car without looking at her.

Peter's feet crunched on the gravel of the parking lot as he crossed to the office. He turned back to her when he was halfway there, uncertain. He wanted to reach through their link and dredge up exactly what she was thinking but that felt like cheating. He winced inwardly at the thought and pushed the ball of guilt over to her side of the court.

"One or two?"

"One's good." Her voice was steady -- he couldn't really tell anything from it. He wondered for the billionth time how normal people managed relationships relying on words and body language alone.

He took a few more steps before turning again. His heart was thudding in his chest; she could probably hear it from across the parking lot. She was scrambling to keep her thoughts neutral, keep her walls up, but something close to panic was whirling past the barriers. Behind the panic he was pretty sure he caught hints of excitement.

"Rooms or beds?" That was, he thought, the closest they'd ever been to breaking the unspoken agreement, the truce that had held the three of them in balance since childhood. She didn't pretend to misunderstand. He could see the blush color her cheeks. He felt bad making her be the one to choose. She didn't have any less to lose than he did. The thought of breaking Nick's heart made him sick but the thought was there all the same and they were both thinking it.

She took forever to answer. They stood in the dusty parking lot for years, ages. "One room, two beds."

"Right." He felt his own cheeks going red and pulled his walls closer to his thoughts. This was the dumbest thing ever. He should just get two rooms and be done with it, give them their separate spaces to retreat to later. It was habit, though, to share a room in the field even if it was usually all three of them. He paid for the room.

They dropped their bags on the beds. The room was clean although its decor was a bit dated and that was a bit of an understatement. Peter wasn't sure he'd ever seen flocked wallpaper outside of a couple ancient pornos that he and Nick had gotten hold of when they were teenagers. Olive busied herself checking gear, refolding uncharacteristically rumpled clothing. Peter took his cue from her and pored over the building plans and aerial photos. They had reasonable intel about the security. His lips twitched into a smile as the plan started to form in his mind. When he glanced up he was surprised that the sun was setting.

"Hungry?"

Olive looked up from the gun she was cleaning. "Yeah, a little."

Peter held up a flyer that had been on the table in the room. "Uncle Ronnie's Smokin' Pig. Yum yum."

She wrinkled her nose. "No fucking way."

"I think that might be the only gig in town."

"Peter, that thing has a picture of a giant pig's ass on it. I'm not eating there."

"That's actually a picture of the restaurant. It's shaped like a pig's ass." Peter studied the menu. "They've got sandwiches and baked potatoes."

She made a little sound but it wasn't exactly agreement.

"There was a McDonalds out near the interstate."

The next sound was definitely not agreement. It was closer to disgust.

He flipped through the phone book. "There's a pizza place but they don't deliver…"

"Hey, Peter?"

"Mmm?" He looked up and started at how close she was. He hadn't heard her move. Her pale hazel eyes were worried and he was reminded of when they were little and had screwed something up, botched some test and were trying to figure out how to not get in trouble. His chest felt tight like he couldn't get enough air.

"About earlier…"

"Forget it." He shrugged and tried for nonchalant. "It was nothing."

She dropped her eyes and nodded. "Yeah. Okay."

He wondered if people could guilt themselves to death.

Supper was crackers and sodas out of the vending machines and they tried to watch TV. When he as brushing his teeth he had a hard time meeting his own eyes in the mirror. He pretended to be asleep when she got out of the bathroom. The roar of the highway played along the edge of his senses and as he was drifting off to sleep he imagined it was the ocean and that he was at the beach house when they were kids and everything was simple.

*****

Olive was in a dark place that smelled of dust and dried blood. The walls were too close together and shadows spread across the floor like jagged, thorny vines. She was barefoot and the thorns snagged her skin. She shouldn't be alone here, there should be someone with her but she was alone. The shadows whispered that she'd be alone forever because that's the way they wanted it to be. She ran from the shadows and the hallway turned into white walls and floors, all brightly lit. It was worse than the shadows. She walked aimlessly. All the hallways looked the same but she could tell where she had been because she was leaving bloody footprints behind her. The wall ahead of her had a window and she didn't want to look through it but she couldn't stop walking towards it.

*****

Peter ran his hand over the bare skin of Olive's arm and settled on the bed next to her. She was whimpering softly, burrowing into the blankets like she was trying to hide from something. He pushed carefully at the part of her mind that was dreaming, pushed the dream away without waking her. It was second nature, soothing the nightmares from her sleeping mind. It didn't happen as much now as when they were children, but this pathway between them was well worn. She quieted and her breathing evened out. He brushed her hair back from her face and smoothed the blankets over her.

He watched her until he was sure she'd stay asleep then booted his laptop and curled up on the other bed to finalize his plan.

*****

Nick was small again, and part of him recognized that he was dreaming but part of him thought he was awake, too. He was in his room at the school and it was filled with shadows. He thought it was the ZFT school where they'd grown up but maybe it was the school where he'd been working. The window was covered with newspaper and it cut his fingers when he tried to tear it away.

The only furniture in the room was a bed, a tall, spindly looking thing, tall enough that he could almost walk under it without stooping. There was a knife lying near one leg and he picked it up. It was heavy and warm in his hand.

The door was heavy and squealed on its hinges when he pushed it open. It was the hallway from the dormitory. Green and white checkerboard tile covered the floor. He made his way down the hall, stepping only on the white tiles. There was a room down the hall where he'd be safe. There was someone there to protect him. He was nearly running when he reached the door.

The room was empty. No, not empty. The shadow-thing was laughing at him from the corner. It coiled and sprang at him and he fled down the hall. The green tiles grabbed at his feet and he fell and the thing was on him. Its cold breath gusted against his cheek and he tried to curl into a ball. He remembered the knife and tried to strike the shadow-thing with it but his hands were slick with blood and the thing knocked the knife from his hand and it fell towards his eye.

He was crying when he woke. His pillow was wet with tears and he flung it away and grabbed another one. He wasn't sure why he had so many damn pillows but he was glad he did anyway. He curled on the bed until he was just sniffling, rose on shaky legs to look around the room. He dressed quickly. Nick got the feeling that he was intruding in someone else's apartment.

The refrigerator was empty. The only food he could find was a box of oatmeal cookies. They made his stomach turn and he threw them away.

He was nearly to the front door when his chest tightened and his heart started pounding. He felt dizzy, nauseous. He wanted to curl up on the floor and never go outside again. The shadows were tugging at him, pulling him outside, and he was too tired to fight them. He had to go outside anyway. He had to go to work. He ran his hands over his head and the short, bristly hairs pricked at his fingers making them tingle. His hands were shaking as he locked the door behind him.

Nick made it outside before he nausea overcame him and he retched at the side of the building. He felt like he had a hangover but he never drank so it couldn't be a hangover. He thought maybe he was coming down with something. He pulled his helmet on and sat on his bike, taking deep breaths to calm himself before kicking the engine to life.

*****

The drive to the site passed in disjointed flashes, one moment on a familiar road, the next certain he was lost. There were shadows everywhere now, pale duplicates of the trees and buildings. People wavered in a faint, gray halo, like they were just out of sync with themselves. The rush of the cold air cleared his head, though, drove off the nausea and crawling sensation that skittered over his skin. By the time he reached the school he felt better.

It was cold in his dusty office, crowded with shadows. The shadow-thing was lashing its tail in time with the dripping and it sounded less like dripping and more like someone tapping on something. Out of the corner of his eyes he could see a room like his office only different. The hallway wavered under his feet when he walked to the classroom. The pairs of children unnerved him and he almost turned around immediately and left. He took a deep breath and sat at one of the little tables.

The room shifted and the shadow-children were watching him. They were faded and rippled like mirages. One of the pairs was lying on the ground in a pool of gray blood, still holding hands.

The chair clattered to the floor behind him, knocked away when he bolted from it. The kids made sharp noises of surprise and he thought someone was calling his name. The other room canted sideways and his stomach dropped with a sickening sensation of movement. When he blinked it was gone, he was back in the brightly colored classroom, wide-eyed kids staring at him. A woman with curly brown hair was calling his name but he ignored her and fled.

Nick was on the road when he remembered he should have grabbed his helmet. Someone worried about that, nagged him about wearing it, but he couldn't remember who.

*****

Peter had vanished from the hotel sometime before dawn and she felt a moment of panic when she woke up alone. She scrabbled along their link, still foggy from the remnants of nightmares. A low hum of calm radiated from him, the focus he felt when he was working, and she relaxed back into the warmth of her bed. He returned with breakfast and a stolen car. Olive wrinkled her nose at both.

"What?"

"I don't like fast food."

"Not a lot of choice around here." He offered a greasy biscuit sandwich. "I got you one without bacon. That's gotta count for something, right? They had yogurt cups but they had fruit mixed in them so I didn't think you'd eat that."

She glanced out the window. "And that… wreck?"

He grinned at her around a mouthful of breakfast. "All part of the plan."

*****

They were parked maybe half a mile from the site, hood of the car up, Peter rummaging around underneath. Olive was leaning against the side of the car, sweeping both mind and eyes towards the nearest gate. To the casual observer she was bored and impatient. Peter was counting down the time in his head, had worked out how long they had until security came around.

"Anything?"

"Not yet, but they know we're here. Are you sure this is going to work?" She turned and leaned down to look under the hood with him.

He grinned at her.

"Trust me."

She rolled her eyes and leaned back against the car, hugged her arms around her. Peter abandoned the show of checking the engine and moved around the side of the car to stand next to her. "Wassa matter?"

"Mmm. Cold."

"How can you be cold? It feels like summer."

She shrugged and was opening her mouth to reply when she shivered violently. Her eyes went wide, went black despite the bright sun, and a low whine rose in her throat.

"'Livia?" Peter cupped his hand along her cheek, tilted her head up. "What?"

She shook her head, curled her hand around his wrist. Terror burst across their link, bright and jagged.

"Something's wrong." Whispered, lips barely moving. He stepped closer and pulled her into his arms, fought for balance against the torrent of her emotions. The calm he tried to push towards her was drowned by fear and it left him gasping for breath. The mental timer of how long they had before someone from the lab got worried and came to check them out was nearing zero.

"Okay. It's okay. All right, get in the car. Come on." He guided her in, slammed the hood shut on his way around. He swept his eyes towards the gate briefly. The car roared to life and he drove, aimless down the backroads, carried on the wave of her panic.

She was taking deep breaths, trying to ground herself. Her hands were shaking when she ran them through her hair, combing out tangles that were instantly replaced by the wind whipping through the open window. The hot wind felt good on her skin, warming her, pushing away the chills that had been threatening all morning. She finally gave up on her hair, dropped her hands to her lap. Peter was glancing over at her every few minutes and she could feel the tentative push of his mind across their connection. He pulled the car off to the side of the road, killed the engine and waited. She closed her eyes and leaned back, slumping against the seat before flinging her mind open.

Her sense of Peter was immediate, encompassing, warm scents of the beach and dark blue and sounding like stars. Past him was quiet, empty space of fields and stands of trees, the bright spark of people concentrated in the lab, dim glimmers from houses, and past that was nothing. The glossy threads weren't there, the tethers to Nick that were as much a part of her as a part of him were nowhere to be found. The emptiness made her ache, brought panic rising to the surface.

"I can't find him."

Peter measured his words carefully. "He doesn't want to be found?"

She shook her head, chewed on her thumbnail. "No, it's different from that." Fear was rolling off of her in waves, seeping in to his skin and he fought the rising terror. The car roared back to life and he pointed them back towards the town. They were out of the hotel quickly, ditching the stolen car in the parking lot and that would probably come back to bite him but he didn't really care. She was trembling and silent by the time they were on the interstate. He twined his fingers around hers. Her face twisted in pain as she stared at their joined hands but she didn't pull away.

Guilt licked along their connection like flames. Peter swallowed hard against the nausea and tightened his fingers around hers. She closed her eyes and leaned her head against the window.

*****

Nick tore the gray shirts from the closet and flung them across the room. There were a few boxes of running shoes at the bottom but it wasn't inside them. He crouched on the floor in front of the closet and panted. He was sure it was here somewhere. That bitch had probably hidden it. If Olive were here she'd help him look but it wasn't her, only the other one and he couldn't let her find it. The cat-thing said it was here but he wasn't sure he believed it.

He heard a sound from the front of the apartment and froze.

"Nick?"

The voice sounded worried, unfamiliar.

"You in here, Nick?"

He rose slowly and padded out to the hallway. The man in his living room was skinny and sallow. His bald head was shiny in the sunlight and he wore a wrinkled suit. He smelled like fear and cheap cologne. Nick tried to curl his thoughts around the man's fear and use it to make him leave but he couldn't. His mind slipped and scrabbled against the other man's emotions like they were coated with ice. The man smiled and spread his hands in a placating way.

"Nick. I know things aren't going so well right now. I can help. We can go in together and we can get help for you, all right?"

Nick tried to grasp at anything, any emotion he could, but there was nothing he could get a hold of. Fear pooled in his stomach, cold and heavy.

"I know you're trying to use your ability. The Coriteral treatment has had some unintended results. We didn't expect it to affect your ability in the manner it has. We think the disorientation is due to your connection to your partners being severed. That should be temporary. You need to come in with me and we can work that out."

Nick backed up a few steps. "Treatment…?" The shadow-thing was watching from the corner. Its sibilant voice suggested this strange man was the one who sent Olive away.

"Don't be stubborn, Nick. Clearly your ability is dampened to the point you can't do anything with it. You need to come along with me now, soldier. That's an order."

The man advanced towards him. When he got close he placed a hand on Nick shoulder and smiled. "That's it. Come on. We'll go in together and get this all fixed."

Nick drove his fist into the man's throat and he staggered away. Nick followed. He caught the man easily as he tried to flee. Sound was gurgling in his throat and his face was turning red. Nick curled his fingers around the back of the man's neck and used his weight to drop him to the ground. The stranger's legs twitched violently when his face hit the floor. Nick pulled his head up and drove it into the floor again for good measure and the body under him stopped moving.

The shadow-thing lashed its tail.

Nick rose on shaky legs and watched the blood trickling from under the stranger's face. It flowed to the edge of the rug and was absorbed, seeping between the fibers. The pattern of the blood was important, he knew it was, but he didn't like looking at it. He backed away and went back to searching even though he was sure it wasn't there. In the back of someone else's closet he found a box of clues, signs to follow. The shadow-thing rubbed against him and purred that it had left the clues there for Nick to find.

He didn't believe it.

His arm burned where the thing's fur had touched him, tiny hairs burrowing into his skin. He scratched until his fingers came away bloody. He looked into the box again, felt a flicker of recognition but the shadow-thing growled at him and he had to leave.

He knew where he had to go.

*****

The door to the apartment was unlocked. Olive met his eyes for a moment. He wished now that he'd gotten a gun from the trunk of his car but he knew she wouldn't wait for him to go back downstairs. He eased the door open and they moved in silently. She was into the closet next to the door immediately and passed a gun to him. Peter swept his eyes over the room, extended his mind to the rest of he apartment. Everything was quiet. The place was fucking trashed.

There was also a corpse in the living room.

Peter raked his fingers through his hair and rested his hands on his head. "Fuck."

He knelt next to Harley and checked for a pulse despite the obvious signs that he'd been dead for a while. Olive leaned over him.

"Oh, shit. Peter, what happened?"

They checked the rest of the apartment quickly and regrouped in the kitchen. Olive was digging the fingers of one hand into the back of her arm, not quite breaking the skin but she was getting close. He pulled her hand away. The rest of the apartment was trashed, just like the living room. Peter found Harley's briefcase and was riffling through it.

"Do you think Nick killed him?" She chewed on her thumb. "Why would Nick kill him? I mean, I know I joked about it but I was just joking, he wasn't that bad." Tears were sliding down her cheeks and Peter understood it had little to do with the loss of yet another handler. "He's been… I mean… Why didn't we do something? We should have done something." Her voice was a ragged whisper, thick with tears and pain.

Peter stared at the papers in front of him.

"Peter?"

He held the file out to her.

"These are… about Nick." She paged through the notes. "What's Coriteral?"

"It looks like a drug. Something they were testing."

She sounded small and young. "They were testing something on Nick?"

Peter dug through Harley's files, sickness and fury roiling in his stomach. "It blocks empathic abilities in test subjects, rendering abilities temporarily unreliable or unusable. 'Occasional psychotic break possible in highly sensitive subjects.' They were fucking experimenting on him."

Olive was staring at the files scattered on the table. "That's why I couldn't find him? Peter… I thought was just hiding. I thought…" She shook her head and stared at the files. Fear threaded through her and spread over her connection to Peter. "I couldn't find him. He wasn't there. They made him so I couldn't find him."

"Olivia." He curled his hand around her wrist. "Where would he go?"

She looked up at him and shook her head. "I don't know."

Peter licked his lips and tried to think. "Okay. We need sedatives and you guys keep a tranq gun in here, right?

She choked back a sob.

"If we don't find him someone else will, Olivia."

She nodded and ran shaky hands through her hair. "Gun's in the bedroom closet. Drugs are on the top shelf of the medicine cabinet."

Peter grabbed what they would need from the bathroom. When he reached the bedroom Olive was crouching next to the bed, leaning over something. Her voice was flat. "I know where he is."

"Where? How?"

She held up a seashell and he knelt beside her. There was a shoebox in front of her. He reached in and picked out a green stone, perfectly round and exactly the color of her eyes. He had found it out on the breakwater in the rocks in early spring, just before his 12th birthday. He'd kept it all summer until they visited, kept it until the last day. He liked giving her things because even during summer when they weren't being tested or trained she didn't smile enough. She always smiled at the presents.

He rolled the rock between his fingers. "He went to the beach house."

She nodded.

"You kept everything."

She looked up at him, startled. "Of course."

He pulled her to her feet and she was trying to keep the fear under control but it was spiking past the barriers like shards of ice. He cupped his hand to the side of her face and brushed his thumb across her cheek.

"He'll be okay, Olivia."

Her eyes darted away and she blinked rapidly before nodding.

*****

The sky had gone gray and the temperature was dropping rapidly as evening approached. Nick's bike was laid down in front of the house, careless in a way that screamed that something was wrong. Like everything else that had been happening, Peter thought, everything that they had been ignoring. The trail of destruction in the house led to the bedroom that he and Nick had shared during summers when they were children. There were smears of blood on the walls.

Nick's eyes were cold, huge discs of blue ice around pinprick pupils, red-rimmed, feral. He was crouching by the window seat, digging through the storage bin built in underneath it. Peter and Olive glanced at each other, a silent conference before she advanced slowly. Nick turned on her. He scrabbled on the floor next to his feet until his fingers found the knife.

His arms were raw, deep scratches in his skin along with places that looked like he'd been digging the tip of the knife into his arm.

Olive felt like her eyes were betraying her. Her mind found no trace of Nick, not even a shadow. She swallowed against the stinging tightness in her throat. Her voice was soft, just above a whisper.

"Nick."

He brought the knife up defensively and watched her.

"Hey. It's okay. It's me. Put the knife down, alright?"

Nick's eyes flicked back and forth between Olive and Peter. "Get the fuck away from me."

"Nick…"

"Shut. Up. I know you're one of them. You look like her but you're not." His voice rose to a whine. "Just leave me alone."

"I just wanna help you. Please Nick, I'm sorry we didn't see earlier. Let us help you, okay?"

He raised his fists to the side of his head; her eyes tracked the knife. Her voice was a ragged whisper. "Nick, put the knife down. We'll go home and we'll figure out what's wrong. Please."

"I can't go home." His voice was keening. "Don't you see? It's there."

"Okay. Okay, we'll stay here. Whatever you want, just let me have the knife."

Nick studied her face. It looked like her but there was nothing there when he reached out for her. The shadow-thing rubbed up against him, cat-like, lithe. It hissed at her and Nick snarled. The cat-thing's voice was in his head, it was where she used to be but it didn't fit, it was sharp and jagged. It didn't belong there. It didn't belong there and he wanted it gone. It growled at him and the sound resonated in his head, it rang behind his eyes.

He set the point of the knife against his forehead, just above his eyebrow, right where the growling sound was. Her eyes went wide and for a moment he was sure it was really her but the thing in his head screamed.

*****

Olive didn't need any sort of connection to read his intentions but her mind balked at the situation. The knife was moving before she could react. Time dilated to unreality, each second dragging on for eons. Behind her she could hear Peter's raspy breathing quickening into panting as Nick's hand moved. She could hear the knife skidding against bone as it arced in a circle across his temple. He was screaming as her hands caught his, forcing it back before it could complete the upward sweep towards his eye.

Blood welled from the wound and sheeted down his face. Blood slicked her hand as she struggled for the knife. Peter's weight hit her back and he scrabbled to pin Nick. Nick was screaming, thrashing under them and they both tried to punch through the walls he had up against them but even when it felt like the walls crumbled there wasn't anything behind them. Peter got his hands on Nick's wrists, got his weight mostly over his legs. The knife clattered away. The needle sank into Nick's neck and he howled.

Recognition flickered across Nick's face and he went limp under them, sobbing. Peter pulled his sweatshirt off and held it against the side of Nick's face. Olive wrapped her jacket around one of Nick's arms.

"First aid kit in your car?"

Peter nodded but was reluctant to leave her alone with Nick. There wasn't much choice and he hurried. Nick whimpered a little when they were securing the makeshift bandages but gave no other sign that he was aware of them. They slung his arms over their shoulders and carried him out to Peter's car. Olive wrapped him in a blanket in the back seat. She looked up at Peter, worried.

"Do we go in?"

"I think we have to. Too much attention if we go to a civilian hospital. Besides, it's their fucking drug, they'll know how to get it out of his system."

She was curled on the floorboard, wedged in behind the passenger seat. Her head was resting on his chest. Nick was staring at the ceiling, sightless.

"You staying there?"

"Yeah."

Peter swept his mind towards the blank space where Nick should be one last time before heading for the ZFT compound.

*****

Peter watched them. As dark as the hospital room was, he was certain the one-way mirror was doing nothing to hide his presence. Not that it mattered. Nick was still unconscious, pale against the sheets. Peter thought his breathing seemed far too shallow, but it was probably lingering fear that was making it seem that way.

They'd been at the medical facility for hours. Peter's watch told him it was nearly dawn though he had no sense of time in the windowless rooms. The doctors had stitched the worst of the cuts on Nick's arms and the one on his face. After the first relapse into hallucination resulted in one of the doctors needing stitches of his own, they were keeping Nick sedated to let the drug work its way out of his system.

Peter had been assured that the drug would work its way out of his system but that did little to alleviate the icy fear that circled him and Olive.

Olive was swaying on her feet, knuckles whitened around the rail of the bed. He wasn't sure what was holding her up at this point. He pushed the thought to her as gently as he could.

_Bed_.

She nodded and stood watching Nick for another long moment as the thoughts tumbled through her tired mind before she moved. She kicked off her shoes and climbed into bed next to Nick, ingrained behavior from childhood. The comfort of touch set them at ease, always had, and trauma resulted in a tangle of limbs and warmth. Peter blinked. It was no wonder he loved them. He didn't really think he had any choice.

A sound behind him scattered his thoughts before he could examine them too closely. Nina was, as always, completely unreadable to him at an emotional level. The expression on her face hovered between barely controlled fury and something Peter thought looked like shame.

"Peter."

"Nina." He scratched his fingers though his beard. "What the fuck was this?"

She looked annoyed at the vulgarity but didn't comment. Her words were careful and measured. "There were some liberties taken with internal trial procedures." She moved to the window and Peter thought the expression on her face might be real sorrow. Might not, too -- she was a conniving bitch. "When Mr. Handenberg checks in he will be… reprimanded for breaking protocol and endangering Nick -- endangering all of you."

Peter snorted. "Given that his corpse is rotting in their living room, I doubt he's terribly worried about reprimands at this point."

Nina turned towards him and raised an eyebrow.

"Nick flipped the fuck out and killed the bastard. If it weren't for the fact that it's going to severely screw with his head when he remembers it, I'd say it was for the best. I'd appreciate a team being dispatched to clean the place up before they go home."

Nina sighed. "Of course. Peter, please understand that this was not a sanctioned test."

Peter wanted to hit something, clenched his hand into a fist. "Save your bullshit for someone who hasn't heard it all before, Nina. You can't expect me to believe that this happened without _someone_ knowing about it. You needed a guinea pig and Nick fit the bill. Jesus, did any of you even bother to think what it would do to him, what it would do to _her_?" His lips were drawn back in a snarl.

Nina's expression hardened. "Of course we considered it. That's why the trials were to be conducted in a controlled environment. This," Nina gestured towards the window, " would not have happened if the proper trial procedures had been followed."

"Fuck the drug trials. Putting him in that situation was completely irresponsible, controlled environment or not. You've broken them. I swear to god, if they can't be fixed I will decimate you and anyone else I decide was responsible. And if you hurt them again…"

"Rest assured, Mr. Bishop, this isn't something that will happen again."

"You're goddamn right it won't. Nothing goes to them without going through me first. No assignments, no drugs, nothing. No more handlers. We're done playing that game. If you want us, you get us on our terms, not yours. I'm not going to let you do this to them again." He loomed over her, crowding into her personal space and using his height to intimidate. The chill little smile she gave him said it might not be such an effective tactic.

"You're willing to take responsibility for them?"

Peter didn't hesitate. "Yes."

Nina's smile widened. "Not the circumstances I would have wanted. But it's about time, Mr. Bishop."

Peter's forehead creased in confusion.

Nina's eyes were drawn back to Nick and Olive's sleeping forms. "I know it isn't much comfort now, but I do wish them the best. If there is anything I can do to help during their… all of your recovery, please don't hesitate. When all of you have had time to recover we'll discuss your new responsibilities."

She turned back to Peter before leaving, met his eyes and for a moment her walls slipped. Her grief washed over him, and it was deep and cold like a river in winter. It was gone in an instant, fast enough that he almost thought he imagined it. He sifted through the lingering images until he found the one that had startled him -- a man long dead and how much she missed him, and how much Peter reminded her of his father.


	5. Four

_Chapter Four: In slow motion, the blast is beautiful._

The first few days passed for Nick in scattershot bursts, one moment talking to a nurse the next waking up restrained again, throat raw from screaming. Usually Olive was there, sometimes Peter, too. Sometimes he woke up alone and was sure there wasn't anyone else anywhere and he sobbed. He hated the hospital, the doctors watching him all the time. He hated that he still couldn't find Olive as anything more than a whisper of fear along their connection. He hated the bandage on his face and the way the stitches pulled at his skin. He hated the sick feeling in his stomach that he'd done this to himself. Even worse was the feeling that he hadn't, that they'd done this to him.

The tests were endless. There were no apologies -- it was understood by everyone in the organization that soldiers were useful test subjects and it was one of their duties. He traced a finger over the bandages wrapped around his forearms. It had always seemed like too much to ask of them but when they weren't even asked… He rubbed at his eyes and winced when his fingers got too close to the wound.

It was night and he started awake at some sound, something on the edge of his awareness. Olive was curled up against him, messy blond hair spilling over his chest. She was sleeping and that made him happy. She had dark circles under her eyes and he was worried about her. He pulled her close and nuzzled the top of her head. It was comforting to have her there even if he couldn't quite feel the presence of her dreaming mind. She was getting closer -- sometimes he was certain they were just moments away from feeling each other again before the connection frayed and vanished.

He smacked his tongue against the roof of his mouth and tried to rub the fuzzy feeling away from the inside of his mouth. The little table that swung over the bed was off to the side, just out of reach. He was thirsty as hell and tried to stretch enough to get the big plastic mug off of it without waking Olive. Nick hadn't noticed that Peter was in the room until he stretched a leg out and pushed the table over to him.

"Thanks." Nick's voice was still raspy.

Peter stood and stretched. Peter looked like shit, though probably no worse than he did, Nick thought. His eyes were red and puffy, like he'd been crying and Nick wondered if that was what had woken him.

"It's probably warm." Peter's voice was pitched low to keep Olive from waking but it was soothing, too. It reminded Nick of when they were little and Peter would whisper stories to him in the middle of the night to get him to go to sleep. He clawed at their connection trying to get any hint of Peter's thoughts, his emotions, anything. Peter looked worried but there wasn't anything to indicate he felt Nick reaching for him. Nick stared at his friend and felt desperately alone. "You want me to get some ice?"

Nick shook his head.

"You hungry? You didn't eat anything today."

Nick shook his head again, barely moving it. He looked down at Olive curled under a scratchy white blanket, at the stark white walls of the compounds medical facility, at the bright, sterile light spilling under the bottom of the door. Panic clutched at his chest, left him wanting to scream and cry and Olive slept like nothing was happening and Peter watched without feeling anything. He fought the urge to tear the IV from his arm.

"You want…"

"I wanna go home." He turned his face to Peter and felt tears building in his eyes.

Peter's forehead creased and his lips twisted. He looked away for a moment before meeting Nick's eyes again. His voice was low and raspy. "I don't think they're ready to let you go home."

"I don't care." Tears spilled down his cheeks. He sounded like a child, he knew that, but he was so tired of being there.

"Nick…" Peter's voice broke and tears glinted on his eyelashes. He leaned close and wrapped his arms around Nick. He sobbed into Peter's chest. Peter was crawling into the bed without even thinking, curling against Nick like when they were kids. The movement startled Olive awake and she blinked at them in confusion before she made a hurt little sound and pressed her face to Nick's neck. The weight of them should have been comforting but without feeling them in his mind it just made everything worse. They shook against each other. They'd learned long ago to keep their pain quiet, to huddle together at night and cry silently because any sound would bring their keepers and soldiers weren't supposed to be so weak. Peter pressed his lips against Nick's temple, near the bandage and his voice was broken.

"Morning. We'll go home in the morning."

*****

It took considerable bullying on Peter's part, cowing reluctant doctors into releasing their pet test subject. He was just starting to edge into threats when a phone call followed by a whispered conference between the medical staff bought them their freedom. Jittery images of a furious Nina Sharp bled off the doctor and Peter allowed himself a grim smile at that.

Olive had Nick dressed in sweats and sneakers by the time Peter returned with the skittish doctor in tow. Nick still looked far too pale, hell, Olive did too, but Peter thought he looked better this morning. Less haunted. Peter thought Nick almost smiled at him when he dragged the doctor into the room, a little spark of light in Nick's eyes before he sighed and the impassive mask he and Olive had perfected slid back in place.

The doctor was a toad-like creature named Austin. He reeked of fear and Peter was pretty sure he always reeked of fear although it was a reasonable response at the present. Dr. Austin set an assortment of medicine out and babbled nervously about dosing and side effects. He scribbled on charts and made notes in shaky handwriting. They stared at the bottles on the little metal table like they might explode.

"What the fuck is all that?" Peter waved his hand towards the table. Olive was leaning against Nick, pressed against his side while he still sat on the bed. They had knotted their fingers together when the doctor entered the room.

"The medicine Mr. Lane needs during his recovery."

Peter picked a bottle up and rattled the pills inside it. "Write out the prescriptions."

The doctor blinked rapidly. "I… I can't really do that."

Peter's head stayed lowered over the table but he raised his eyes. "You're a fucking doctor, aren't you? Write out the prescriptions or I'll find someone who will."

The doctor swallowed hard, an audible click in the silence of the room. "Some of these medications aren't readily available from civilian sources."

Peter clenched his hand around the bottle. "Pick different meds." The doctor's mouth opened and closed a few times and fear rolled off of him. Peter was holding back from influencing him, relying on physical intimidation instead of emotional, but Olive wasn't. She pushed terror at the man, suggested horrors to some primal part of the doctor's mind. Subtlety wasn't her strong suit under the best of circumstances and Peter laid a restraining hand on her arm before the guy bolted from the room or passed out or something. Her irritation prickled against his hand but she eased up, contented herself with glaring.

The doctor trembled when he wrote out the prescriptions.

*****

Peter hated the Wal-Mart that was a few miles from their apartment. It was crowded and claustrophobic and they all usually avoided it but it was the most convenient place to get everything they needed. He quizzed the pharmacist about the drugs -- relieved that they were only antibiotics, painkillers and a refill for Nick's regular medication -- and did a quick sweep around the store. He fought down his nerves as the long aisles made him feel trapped, other shoppers getting far too close to him. He was wiping his sweaty palms on his thighs compulsively by the time he got through the checkout line. He was filled with dread that something had happened to them by the time he got to the parking lot but there was only the same vague fear from Olive as when he had left. The relief he felt when he got back to their apartment was nearly a tangible thing and his mind whispered "home" to him.

Peter keyed himself into the apartment as quietly as possible and tried not to drop the bags of groceries in his arms. He glanced towards the back of the apartment and put things away as quietly as he could. Exhaustion had claimed Nick and Olive almost as soon as they'd walked through the door. They had tumbled into bed and slept, were still sleeping, and Peter doubted if they were going to wake up before morning. They had enormous energy reserves, training and modification to let them stave off sleep for extended amounts of time but eventually they crashed. His own crash wasn't far off but he had wanted to get things squared away first.

The cleanup crew had done a pretty good job with the apartment. Things were neat and orderly and only the chemical scent of cleaning solution remained. They'd even replaced the rug. Peter stripped off his clothing and changed into sweats he'd just bought. They smelled new and plasticy. His hands were shaking. He stood in the living room, so tired even the decision of where to lay down to sleep was monumental.

He followed the warm pull of Olive's sleeping mind back to the bedroom, but it felt wrong, off-balance without Nick. They were curled together, huddled under the blankets, and even in sleep he could feel tiny shards of Olive's fear. Peter crawled onto the bed and molded himself against Nick's back. His mind insisted it was empty space between him and Olive and his throat tightened. He buried his face in the back of Nick's neck and fought back tears until eventually sleep claimed him.

*****

Olive shifted on the couch and put her book down next to her. Peter was tinkering with something in the kitchen, making soft clattering sounds that were becoming familiar and comforting. He'd been working there since they got home, two days of taking apart every appliance in the apartment. The last time she checked the blender had been in pieces on the table. She liked watching him work but she made him uneasy. He tried to hide it but it bled over their connection and eventually she wandered off to the living room. It wasn't much better, though. The apartment was just too small.

She looked down the hallway and swept her mind towards the bedroom. She thought maybe she could feel Nick but probably it was just her wanting to feel him and her mind making things up because she wanted it so badly. She shivered at the cold space in her mind where he should be and counted forty numbers in the Fibonacci sequence to calm herself. She was still trembling when she got done.

Olive wanted to go check on Nick again but it hadn't been that long since the last time she'd snuck down the hall and peered into the room. He'd either be sleeping to pretending to sleep. Or maybe just laying in bed staring up at the ceiling. Peter was worried that they'd left medical too soon. She was just worried, a formless, encompassing fear that things would never be right again. She tried to reassure herself that Nick would be okay, that he'd talk to her when he was ready but she wasn't sure this time. Everything about this was different and she hated it.

She rolled that thought around and examined it, felt around the edges of it. Hate was a good word. She let it flood her mind and grasped at the images of burning buildings and screaming people in white lab coats. There would be guards, too many guards but they would only slow her down, they couldn't stop her.

"Olivia."

She could get through the gates before anyone knew something was wrong, right into the heart of the compound. It would nearly drop her, but she could generate an EMP that would take out the whole site, lock everyone in when she disabled the failsafes. She'd have just enough energy left to start the fires.

"Olivia!"

Peter was kneeling in front of her, hands on her shoulders.

The breath she drew in was shuddery.

"Stop. You need to stop."

Waves of calm washed over her and she shoved them away. "They tried to kill him!"

"They didn't, not exactly."

"Why are you defending them?" Her voice rose to a whine, desperate and confused.

"I'm not. Olivia, just stop. Listen to me for a minute."

"I don't want to listen! I want…" Her voice broke and she sobbed. Images battered his mind, fire and destruction and exactly what she wanted to do to the organization and everyone in it. Peter gathered her in his arms and let her shake against him.

"They hurt him, Peter."

"I know." His voice broke a little. "I know, but they'll know what you want to do to them. Olivia, they've been profiling you since you were a child. They'll be ready for you and they'll kill you." He smoothed her hair back from her face and made her meet his eyes. "It won't change what they did to you and Nick. They'll kill you and you won't be able to take enough of them out to make a difference."

She held his eyes for long minutes before nodding. He pulled her close to him and kissed her forehead. She rubbed at her eyes and winced. They were sore from crying so much. Peter sat on the couch with her and she dozed against him for a while before she got up to check on Nick again.

*****

The doctor had said there would be withdrawal symptoms. Nick stared at his hand as it trembled just short of the glass he was reaching for and decided the doc hadn't been kidding. He tried again and got the distance right this time. He felt Olive watching from across the room and flushed at being seen so fucking weak that it took him two tries to take a drink of goddamn orange juice. Orange juice that had pulp in it because Peter bought the wrong kind and wouldn't leave the apartment to go back to the store. And he didn't really feel Olive but he knew she was watching him because she hadn't turned a page in the book she was reading for five minutes.

He was sitting at the kitchen table because they wouldn't let him lie in bed all day anymore. Three days was apparently the limit they would allow on that sort of thing. Olive had nagged at him until he got up and showered. He ran the water as hot as he could stand it and imagined that the heat was drawing the leftover drugs from his system out and the steam was carrying them away. The shower had felt good. Less good was peeling off the bandages and really looking at the gashes in his arms, the wound on his face. They were all healing well, he supposed. The stitches were getting itchy as hell. They were supposed to stay in another few days but he'd maybe try to badger Peter into taking them out later. Olive wouldn't do it, he didn't think. Her eyes skittered away from looking at the cuts like she didn't want to think about them.

Nick tilted the glass and caught his reflection in it, wavy and distorted. The cut on his face would scar, along with a few of the deeper ones on his arms. He had worse, he supposed, and he'd get used to them in time, but these seemed different. He sighed and twirled the glass around on the table, watching the pulpy orange residue slide around in the bottom.

Olive still hadn't moved. If he looked up, he would be able to catch her eyes for a moment before she glanced away and pretended to read her book again. Peter was… hell, Nick didn't know where Peter was. Nick couldn't fucking keep track of him now. He thought maybe he was in the apartment but he wasn't sure. _Anyone_ could be in the apartment and Nick wouldn't be able to tell. Fear prickled between his shoulder blades and he tightened his hand on the glass. He tried to slow his breathing.

He heard Olive drop her book and cross the room. Her fingers felt cold against the skin of his neck and the dark, clawing fear that it wasn't really her was there again when he looked up at her. There were tears in his eyes before he could even try to stop them and her arms were around him. He didn't know how to tell her that just made things worse so he let her hold him until she stopped crying, there in the kitchen while the disgusting, pulpy orange juice dried in the bottom of the glass.

*****

Olive was watching Nick sleeping, just barely aware of the sensation of him being asleep that felt like a warm weight on top of her own mind. It was a pleasant sensation, made her feel relaxed and calm. Peter was asleep on the couch and his mind was heavy against hers but Nick's was there, too, underneath. She crept close enough to see the rise and fall of Nick's chest, to hear the faint, raspy sound of his breath. Moonlight painted the room in cold gray -- she could just see the dark line of the scar at the side of his face.

She didn't like looking at it. She knew that bothered Nick. It bothered her, too. It was starting to scab over. Peter had removed the stitches yesterday. Olive hadn't liked that but couldn't really disagree with Nick's not wanting to go back to medical to have them out. The line of the cut was dark red, faint mottled bruising around the edges. The color was wrong, it sounded awful and she wished she could just look at things and not have everything get jumbled up in her mind. She wished she could look at Nick and not hear the scratching sound that was the color of the scar. Here, with all the colors leached away by the darkness, there was just silence. She dropped her eyes from his face and didn't try to stop the tears.

"What are you doing?"

Her breath huffed out in a surprised little pant and her response was automatic. "Nothing."

Nick caught her wrist before she could flee. He sat up on the bed and pulled her towards him, pulled her down on the bed. His fingers brushed her cheeks, wiping away her tears.

"It bothers you that much?"

She made a helpless little sound, caught between a whine and some sort of denial, and shifted her hand so her fingers were woven between his. "The color is wrong."

Nick tilted his head at her. "It'll fade. Other scars don't bother you."

Olive dropped her head. Words weren't easy for her; it was too easy to be misunderstood. She loosened their fingers and traced a pattern on the back of his hand. "It's just different. I don't like things when they're different." She wasn't sure how to explain that looking at Nick was like looking in a mirror. They had been paired by ability but she had always wondered if that hadn't been influenced by how they looked, two little blond kids similar enough to be siblings. Nick was so tightly woven into her own self-image that her mind was just as likely to bring up his face when she thought of herself. She sighed and her voice was soft. "We don't look the same anymore."

Nick's forehead creased and his lips tightened. Olive could see the shiny sparkle of tears that welled in his eyes. He curled his arms around her and she rested her head on his chest.

*****

Nick stood in the kitchen and tried to concentrate on julienning the squash on the cutting board in front of him. He could just hear their voices from the office, low and worried. He hadn't been doing it deliberately, really, but he hadn't spoken to either of them all day. Nick knew it bothered them, he did, but talking just seemed like too much effort and he didn't want to bother with it. Five days out of medical and he was starting to feel trapped by Peter and Olive.

He slammed the knife down harder than necessary. The sound caught their attention and they went quiet, straining to hear. He felt them brush lightly against his mind but it still was unreliable, like a moth fluttering against his skin. The familiar twinge of panic that they'd never get more than that crept along his nerves. The hushed voices resumed and he could hear fear in Olive's voice even if he couldn't make out the words and felt bad for worrying her.

He didn't need any sort of connection to know they were trying to figure out how to get the knife away from him, like he couldn't be trusted. They'd spent days trying to get him to do something, anything other than lay in bed and stare at the walls, and now they were freaking out because he was doing something and he just wanted them to leave him alone. Nick rocked the knife across the wooden surface and watched the edge of the blade take little slices off the orangish squash. Watching the edge of the blade brought back the weird feeling of unreality, the disorientation of the hallucinations.

He threw the knife into the sink.

Olive crept into the room, moving slowly like she didn't want to startle him. He sighed.

"I'm fine, Olive."

"I didn't say you weren't." She sounded defensive and he couldn't blame her. They'd been fighting a lot, arguing about everything, drawing Peter into the arguments as well. He knew it was because they were scared and still hurting, defensive mechanisms of guilt and shame, but that didn't really make it easier. They weren't used to fighting with each other; the flow of emotions between them usually headed off arguments before they started. Olive was standing just inside the room, head down, staring at her bare feet. Her lips were moving, counting. He crossed to her and tilted her head up.

"Hey."

There were smudgy bruises under her eyes. He kissed her and rested his forehead against hers for a moment.

"Go get Peter. You can help me make dinner."

She licked her lips and gave him an uncertain smile. "Yeah?"

"Yeah. Just don't let him near the stove. Don't wanna burn the place down."

*****

Nick was trying not to count, trying not to dwell on it, but it'd had been six days since he got home and nine days since Peter and Olive had taken him to medical. They were all getting snappish, irritated at the smallest thing. Olive and Peter had started screeching at each other after Peter burnt dinner. Again. Nick had watched them fight, let them run themselves down, before sending Peter home and Olive off to take a bath. He dumped the charred remains of the pizza into the trash and took the garbage out to the dumpster. He was beginning to think he was handling this whole thing far better than either one of them and that scared him a little. Back in the part of him mind that used to be where he kept things to himself he was starting to plan what he would do if things never went back to normal.

It was uncomfortably warm in the apartment. The furnace had kicked on earlier that day and had decided it didn't want to turn off. Nick hadn't noticed until after he'd politely evicted Peter for the night, so it would just have to wait until morning to get fixed. Assuming Peter decided to come back in the morning. Nick stripped down to his boxers and let himself feel guilty about sending Peter away but he really couldn't stand to listen to him and Olive fighting anymore. Some time apart would do all of them good.

He flopped down on the bed and then wished he'd thought to open the windows first because he felt too lazy to get up again.

A sound from the doorway caught his attention and he rolled his head to the side. Olive was standing in the doorway, off to one side like she was trying to take up as little space as possible. She was in panties and a tank top, black and the top was one he'd gotten for her. It had a red anarchy sign on the front. Her hair was a mass of waves that spilled over her shoulders. He smiled and it wasn't forced or fake. He smiled and the corners of her mouth twitched up, a tiny mirroring of his expression. He could tell she was reaching for him over their connection, could almost see it, like movement behind a curtain but he couldn't quite get there.

He held his hand out to her. She cocked her head to the side and took a tiny step forward. One slow step, then another, then she was across the room and in his arms. She tumbled over him, rolling them both until he was pinning her to the bed. Her smile was wider now, lighting up her eyes and he lowered his mouth to hers.

He tugged her shirt over her head, desperate for her skin against his, and she was kicking off her panties, pulling at his boxers until there was nothing between them. They rocked together, hands clutching at arms, legs twined together.

They were so close; he could feel the edges of her mind for just a moment, before the threads frayed again and they crashed back into their own minds. She was panting against him, resting her forehead on his. The disappointment was bitter. He shifted to his side and kept her cuddled closed as the sweat dried on their skin.

"It's never going to come back."

He sighed and kissed her forehead. "It's starting to come back. It'll get better. It will. We just have to give it more time."

She sounded sulky, close to tears. "It's been more than a week."

"Olive… there isn't anything else we can do except wait."

Tears now, sparkling along her dark lashes. "I know." Whispered, broken, and he hated that he didn't have anything to offer to make things better.

"Olive." He curled his fingers under her chin and pulled back so he could meet her eyes. With the reassurance of their connection gone he thought she probably needed to hear it. "I love you. Nothing changes that. Ever."

She nodded and smiled a little, scrubbed the tears away from her eyes with one hand. She pressed against him and listened to the pounding of his heart, listened to it slow and even out. His hands on her back were soothing and she drifted off to sleep to the sound of his breathing.

*****

Nick slipped out of bed when it was still dark and Olive was still sleeping. The furnace had turned off sometime during the night and it was cold now, fucking freezing. He dressed as quickly as he could without making any noise and pulled another blanket up over Olive. A few golden strands had drifted in front of her face and he brushed them back, fingers lingering on the soft skin of her cheek. He thought he could almost feel her dreams but they slid away from him. He smiled anyway. Dreams were hard to catch under the best of circumstances.

He got a box of cereal out of the cabinet and a soda from the fridge and flopped down in front of the couch, indulging while Olive was still asleep and couldn't badger him about the sugar. He flipped through the channels until he found Star Trek reruns and watched them with the sound off. He was, he decided after giving it a bit of thought, feeling better. The cuts on his arms and face were scabbing over and itched like hell, their connection was still a tenuous thing at best, Peter was apparently now in charge of them, but Nick felt good. He stretched his legs out in front of him and crammed Honey Smacks in his mouth. This was a good morning.

He froze at a sound at the door, a key in the lock. That was not so good, not being able to tell who was at the door. Peter eased the door open and looked startled to see Nick in the living room. He looked like shit and Nick concentrated and flung apology as hard as he could over their link.

Peter blinked once then smiled.

He dropped to the floor next to Nick and Nick offered him the box of cereal.

Peter grabbed a handful of the sticky cereal and frowned. "Why's it so fucking cold in here?"

"Dunno. Something's broken." Nick resisted the urge to scoot closer to Peter and leach warmth off of him.

"And I suppose you think I'm going to fix it?"

Nick glanced sidelong at him. "That's what you do, isn't it?"

Peter was solemn when he looked at Nick. "I try." Nick's chest felt tight for a moment.

Olive had a blanket wrapped around her and her hair resembled a haystack when she shuffled into the room.

"'S cold."

She stepped over Peter's legs and wedged herself between him and Nick. Even with the blanket and all the clothing between them he could feel her presence next to him, sleepy and warm. He slung his arm around her shoulders and dropped his hand on the back of Peter's neck. Olive sighed but it wasn't sad, just a content little sound as she snuggled closer to him. Peter leaned into her and tucked her hand into his and Nick smiled.


	6. Five

_Chapter Five: A clock is ticking, but it's hidden far away._

Nick tugged the blanket tighter around him and tried to concentrate on the TV. Irritation was bleeding over his connection to Olive and Peter and he supposed he could close things off, but they had been operating with the connection wide open for almost a week now. The thought of not feeling them, especially when they weren't home, made him nervous. They'd ease off of each other eventually -- there was no way they could maintain this sort of togetherness and keep their sanity -- but for now it was comforting to have them there.

Even if they were so goddamn cranky that it was setting his teeth on edge.

Olive had come as close to refusing an order as she ever had. Hell, if it had been anyone other than Peter giving the order she would have. They were still working out the weirdness that Peter's shift from partner to handler had caused but they both trusted him enough to follow his lead even if they didn't like it. So Nick stayed home while Peter and Olive went off to work. The sting of being left behind had been softened considerably by the quick hug Peter had wrapped him in before they took off. The flicker of emotion beneath the surface was nice, too, something Nick had been catching more and more often. He was trying not to be impatient with either of them. Adjusting to one major change was enough for now.

It wasn't just the change in Peter's role in their little team, either. The building resentment was going to be an issue sooner or later. The Bosses would only take so much pushing from Olive before they pushed back, and they usually pushed back with bullets through the head. He and Peter were trying to temper Olive's anger but it was a half-hearted effort at best because they didn't really disagree with her.

Nick felt a shift in their emotions, prickles of fear and sorrow, and he was tempted to slide closer to them to listen in but held back. They were probably talking about him, anyway, and he wasn't sure he needed to hear it. They were getting better about their over-protectiveness but it was still a bit much sometimes. Olive shifted again, and he felt her sweeping over the site, pleased with what she felt, and then she and Peter were moving and their adrenaline made his heart pound.

He tipped his head against the back of the couch and enjoyed the rush. Pride flickered from Peter as he got through security, followed by a sharp burst of almost-pain from Olive when she took out surveillance. The next burst wasn't almost -- it was full-on pain, searing through Peter's shoulder, followed by shock and terror. Nick's eyes snapped open and he bit back a scream.

Rage spilled from Olive, hot and bright like the flames he could feel engulfing the security guard, and then she was consumed by panic, her mind skittering wildly. She was feeding off Peter's pain, fear circling between them, and he couldn't get a hold of her thoughts, couldn't calm her. Nick slid sideways to Peter and fought his way past the agony of the bullet wound in Peter's shoulder. Nick pushed Olive's terror away from Peter -- pushed away his own terror at how close the bullet had been to Peter's heart, silenced the terrified voice in the back of his head that was babbling that Peter had just about gotten killed -- and held her at bay to give Peter enough distance to calm her. Hot pain radiated through his shoulder again followed by giddy relief from both of them. There was a moment that echoed between them and then they were moving again.

He caught satisfaction when they had the files they came for, when the target was dead and bleeding at their feet, underscored by irritation. Lots and lots of irritation and neither he nor Peter could think of a good reason to stop Olive from blowing up the building. The explosion and the fire made her feel better and she stopped a moment to survey her work before she and Peter took off. Even the pounding headache from overextending herself wasn't enough to dim her pleasure at reducing the site to ashes. The pleasure quickly soured to resentment.

He felt it then, the thought that had been lurking in the back of all of their minds, only out in the open now -- they were tired of being used. It hovered there between them and Nick could feel excitement twisting through them as the plan formed. _Take them down. Work from within._ Olive's thoughts and they all agreed and Nick felt dizzy from the anticipation.

Nick was tangled in their minds as they moved to leave and he felt the unguarded wash of emotion between them as their hands brushed. His breath caught in his throat, and he didn't mean to eavesdrop, not really, but he couldn't get away from them. They were moving well ahead of their thoughts, letting the emotional high guide their actions and Olive was in Peter's arms, lips against his before either them realized what they were doing.

Nick's jaw dropped.

Shock burst over their link, and before Nick could react Olive panicked and slammed her walls up. Peter followed, but not before a sickening wave of guilt rolled off of him. Nick scrambled after them but they really didn't want to let him through. He let it go, sank back down into the couch and rubbed at his eyes. Of course, it would take one of them nearly getting killed for Olive and Peter to act. Nick chuffed out a little laugh and let the grin spread over his face.

They couldn't ignore it now. He wouldn't _let_ them ignore it now.

*****

The drive back to the compound was all but silent. Peter spent a few minutes digging around for pain meds but came up empty. He slumped in the passenger seat getting blood all over the company car, thankful it wasn't his. Or hers. He'd never hear the end of it if he soaked Olive's car in blood. She was glancing over at him far more often than she should, brow furrowed with pain and concentration. They'd clamped down tightly on their connection, trying to keep the worst of their pain to themselves, but he still was getting hints of worry and guilt and excitement from her. Mostly guilt and he wished she'd stop. He had enough of his own. He didn't think he'd ever be able to meet Nick's eyes again. Just thinking about it set another wave of jittery nausea through him and he dropped his head against the side window.

"Peter?" Soft and worried and she was reaching over to touch his hand. He twitched his hand away from hers and he felt the little shock of hurt from her, confusion. He kept his eyes closed for the rest of the drive.

The compound was quiet this time of night, dimly lit and looking like the country estate it pretended to be. The extra security was subtle and evidence of the labyrinth of labs and facilities below ground was invisible to all but the most observant guest.

One of the guards at the front gate had called ahead and there was a little knot of people waiting at the side lot where she parked. The doctor was one of the younger ones, fussing over Peter immediately, herding him inside. Olive handed the files off to one of the analysts and trailed behind the doctor, following them to medical. She stood near Peter, shifting from foot to foot.

"Go home, Olivia. Get some sleep."

His voice startled her from her brooding and she looked up sharply. She couldn't think of anything to say; everything was too jumbled up in her mind. She nodded but she didn't leave.

He watched her, held her glassy eyes with his then turned his head towards the doctor that was digging around in his shoulder like he was hunting for treasure. "How long is this gonna take?"

The doctor made a triumphant little sound and pulled out the bullet, held it up like a trophy. "Few more minutes to get you patched back up. You've lost a lot of blood so we'll keep you here tonight for a trans…"

"No. I'll get a driver to take me home."

"But Mr. Bishop..."

Peter snarled at him. "Finish up. I'm not staying here." He glanced back to Olive, who was swaying a little where she stood. "Sit down, Olivia, before you fall down." He pointed at a chair and she wandered over and sank into it. She leaned her head back and closed her eyes, dozing while the doctor stitched up his shoulder, bandaged it.

It was another twenty minutes before the doctor was actually finished with him and reluctantly sent him on his way with his arm in a sling and pain meds and antibiotics as parting gifts. Olive had curled up in the chair, head pillowed on her arms. He touched the crown of her head without thinking, a casual brush of fingers that opened a torrent of emotion between them. He pulled away sharply and she muttered apologies, but he didn't really think she was talking to him. She blinked up at him, disoriented.

"Come on. Let's get the fuck out of here." She nodded at that, an easy thing to agree to, and they made their way to the garage.

*****

Olive flopped into the backseat of the car and willed herself to stay awake. The driver was one they knew and he shook his head at their sorry state. "Drop you off first, Mr. Bishop?"

Peter was opening his mouth to agree when Olive cut him off. "No, just my place, Danny."

"Ol…"

"Shut up, Peter. You're hurt and there's no way you should be alone tonight."

Peter opened his mouth to argue but she glared him into submission. It helped that she was right. He'd never leave her or Nick alone if they were hurt and he certainly shouldn't expect her to do that to him. Even if they had just fucked up more royally than they'd ever managed to do before.

Peter sank back against the seat and closed his eyes. He leaned against the door, curled away from her. The meds were just barely taking the edge off his pain; despite his efforts to stay closed off he was bleeding over to her, making her jittery and nauseous. She was torn between wanting to stay as far away from him as possible and wrapping her arms around him. She settled for watching him until they pulled up outside the apartment.

Nick was quiet when he opened the door, just radiated relief and ushered them inside. He didn't say anything when Peter dropped his backpack on the floor, went straight to the bathroom and slammed the door. Olive stared at her feet, tried to fight the tightness in her throat and the butterfly feeling in her stomach. Her eyes stung. Nick's hands were gentle, just a ghost of a touch when he cupped her face and tilted her head up.

Meeting his eyes was too much. When she clenched her own eyes shut, tears spilled down her cheeks. She wrapped her arms around Nick and buried her face in his neck, mumbled apologies against his skin. He felt like comfort and forgiveness.

"Shhh… Olive. It's okay. It is. Everything's fine."

She shook her head and tried to come up with the right words, tried to figure out how to apologize, but Nick kept shushing her. Her headache was making everything blurry and jagged at the same time and she felt like just lying down on the floor in the living room and sleeping forever. Nick was guiding her back to the bedroom before she realized they were moving.

Nick got her out of her bloody clothing and into a pair of shorts and one of his t-shirts, keeping contact with her skin the whole time. He was pushing calm to her, and shifted to the suggestion of sleep once she was on the bed. Olive grasped on to that and pulled it around her mind like a blanket.

*****

Peter pressed his back against the bathroom door, slid down until he was sitting and tried to decide if he was going to throw up. He thought maybe he should have hit the ground a little closer to the toilet because crawling was not going to work out so well right now. Actually, getting up off the floor was going to be difficult, and he considered sleeping there on the floor of their bathroom. His shoulder hurt like fuck and he'd left the pain meds in his backpack. He sighed and stared up at their medicine cabinet but couldn't quite come up with the energy to stand up.

He felt Nick outside the door before he knocked.

"Peter?"

He stared at the ugly yellow tiles behind their bathtub and wondered if Nick would go away if he didn't say anything.

"Come on, dude, you can't stay in there all night."

Peter rolled his head back and stared at the ceiling. "Yeah. Okay. Gimme a minute."

He struggled to his feet, clenching his teeth as pain stabbed through his shoulder.

Nick's voice was more urgent this time. "Peter?"

"I'm okay."

Nick's skepticism at the comment was nearly tangible. He didn't even need to say anything.

"Yeah. Okay, I'm not okay. There's pain killers in my backpack, can you get them for me?"

The door opened immediately and Nick peeked in, holding out a medicine bottle.

"Thanks." Peter popped two pills into his mouth and washed them down with a drink from the faucet.

"We have glasses, you know."

Peter licked his lips and nodded.

Nick's sigh was weary. He held out sweats. "Get changed."

Peter nodded again and waited until Nick retreated behind the door.

Nick was in the kitchen and Peter went right for the couch.

"Uh. No."

Peter clenched his jaw. "I'm sleeping here."

"No. You're not."

"Ni…"

"You are not sleeping on the damn couch after you've been _shot_ for fuck's sake, Peter. Come to bed."

Nick headed down the hall.

Olive was curled up on one side of the bed and Peter stopped in the doorway, wanting to argue again, but he was so tired. Nick crawled into bed next to Olive and left half of the bed free for Peter.

"Bed. Now."

Peter curled onto his side, ignoring the pain in his shoulder, got as close to the edge of the bed as possible and clenched his eyes shut. The bed dipped behind him as Nick shifted. Nick brushed his fingers over Peter's back and Peter had been expecting it, forced himself to not flinch away. The calming rush from Nick was better than any drug, and Peter relaxed. He rolled onto his back, little green stars hovering before his eyes for a moment before he closed them, and slept.

*****

Peter was warm, snuggled in soft blankets that smelled of home and friends and safety. He was dimly aware that his shoulder was starting to ache but it wasn't bad enough to pull him fully awake. The events of the previous night played in disjointed bursts in his mind but they were distant and dreamlike. The noisy, guilt-ridden part of his mind called him an asshole, demanded to know why he kept hurting his friends. The quiet, dark part of his mind offered that they'd be better off without him and wasn't it too bad that the bullet only hit his shoulder. Some other part of his mind was running Olive's lips pressing against his over and over.

Olive grumbled in her sleep and clenched her hand in his shirt. His eyes snapped open and fixed on the ceiling, the little glow-in-the-dark stars there, and he swallowed hard. He eased himself out from under her, slowed by the pain in his shoulder and his desire to not wake her. There were stealthy sounds and smells of food coming from the kitchen. His stomach growled alarmingly.

Nick was standing at the counter, knife flicking though a strawberry. He was wearing ratty gray sweats and was rocking back and forth on his bare feet in time with his knife. He turned and ran his eyes over Peter.

"You look like crap, man."

"Thanks." Peter gnawed on his lip. "Nick, I'm sorry. It… I mean… we didn't…" He stuttered to a halt as Nick laid the knife on the cutting board and turned towards him, leaning against the counter. Peter forced himself to meet Nick's eyes. His voice was sleep-rough and he tried to push sorrow and apology across their connection when he spoke again. "I'm sorry. It won't happen again, I swear."

Nick made a pained face and scratched at the scar near his eye. "How long has it been since you took something for your shoulder?"

Peter shook his head, Nick's concern too much for him to deal with, too much for him to understand. His exhausted mind couldn't work out how Nick could be so calm when everything was so fucked up, when everything had changed.

Nick shrugged. "Nothing's changed."

Peter gaped at him.

Nick smiled, a lazy, teasing thing. "Nothing important anyway. You're still a dumbass."

Peter's forehead creased into a frown. "Hey."

Nick pushed off from the counter and Peter made himself not back away. He couldn't hold Nick's eyes though and stared at his feet as Nick crossed the little room. His heart was hammering and he half expected Nick to hit him but Nick wouldn't hurt him and Peter was shaking when Nick cupped one hand on either side of his face and murmured, "God, you're a moron."

Nick's lips were unexpectedly soft. Just unexpected, really, and Peter froze for a moment before the wash of emotion swept over him. Peter blinked because this was maybe something that shouldn't have been unexpected. Nick might be on to something with that moron thing.

A sound from the hallway startled him away from Nick. Olive was standing in the doorway, mouth slack with surprise. Nick held his arm out and she molded herself against his side.

Nick kissed her nose.

"We're not ignoring this anymore." He stretched an arm out and caught his hand behind Peter's neck and pulled him close, pulled him into the little triangular huddle that was so familiar, so comforting. Peter's shoulder bumped against Nick and he winced at the pain and then at the residual fear that spiked off of Nick and echoed between the three of them. "Inches, Peter. You could be dead, and I'm not waiting for the two of you to come to the obvious conclusion on your own because clearly you never will."

The torrent of emotion coming off of Nick was dizzying in its intensity. Peter wondered how he had missed it for so many years, how he hadn't noticed. Nick leaned over and kissed him again.

"Because you're an idiot."

Nick kissed Olive. "You're both idiots and I love you anyway. Sit down and eat your pancakes; we'll talk about this later."

*****

Peter winced as he moved, leaning into the corner reflexively as his stolen car power-slid on the screen. After two weeks he was out of the sling but healing was an infuriating process, far slower than he would have liked. He didn't heal as quickly as Nick and Olive, he never had. He rolled his shoulder experimentally and leaned back against the couch.

His eyes wandered towards the bedroom and his thoughts followed, brushing against the sleeping warmth of Nick and Olive's minds. Nick had threatened to haul the couch down to the curb if Peter tried sleeping on it again, but Peter still slipped out of bed before either of them woke up most mornings. That little bit of space kept him from feeling trapped. He had more things at their apartment than his own now, clothing tucked into the edges of their closet, stowed in a duffle bag under the bed. He hadn't even been to his apartment for anything longer than to grab something since Nick came home from medical. Being in their apartment was comforting. It felt like home in ways that his own apartment never did. He missed the garage a little, but he couldn't really work on anything with his shoulder injured.

He shrugged again and stood, went to the kitchen to start the coffee maker. They were settling into a routine, he and Olive happy to follow Nick's lead. They had watched Nick warily at first, waiting for Nick to spring the threatened "later" on them, but Nick was patient with them; years of waiting reinforced his natural tendencies. There was parity in his affection, subtle suggestions in his actions. They edged closer and closer, tiny negotiations towards the inevitable. Nick showed them, persistent in his demonstration of how things should be, and slowly that's how things were.

*****

Olive sighed and stretched, let her mind roam away from the data on her laptop to brush against Nick and Peter playing video games in the living room. The weeks since Peter had been shot had been stressful for her. Before when Peter crashed with them it was for a few days, a week at the most. Now, though, she was fairly certain it was a permanent arrangement. She was fairly certain she was happy about that, but Peter was still screwing up her daily routine. He was just always _there_, the proximity made more noticeable because Nick was guiding them towards each other, herding her and Peter into each other's space.

Olive flicked her eyes back to the screen, parsing the data quickly, separating the promising leads from the dead ends. She had holed up in the office to try and give herself some distance and had started digging through the ZFT databases at Nick's suggestion when she whined about having nothing to do. The databases were vast and she wasn't sure what she was looking for exactly, but the threads were there, she just had to follow them. She noted any advantage she could find, chinks in the armor of the organization, allies both within and without. She looked for the perfect opening, just like they'd been trained.

It felt strange to talk about it, to really acknowledge that they were doing. Their plan was still sketchy at best and the vagueness bothered her. She preferred straightforward assaults but was willing to acknowledge the wisdom in waiting even if she didn't like it. Peter was right, moving now, with no plan or support would only get them killed. Olive let impatience wash over her. Her lips twitched into a smile as Peter and Nick both ghosted the suggestion of restraint towards her. The giddy energy that built up at the thought of what they were doing was hard to resist, but Nick's calm and Peter's worry tempered her enthusiasm. They would wait until they were sure they could take down their masters successfully.

She pulled up another file and noted the soldier's ties to a pharmaceutical research firm in Montana. One of the threads she knew she was seeking was more information on the drug that had been used on Nick. She clenched her teeth against the fear and counted the blinking of the cursor. She tried to hold the fear back but it spilled over their link.

Peter got to her first and ran a hand over her hair before turning her chair so she was facing away from the computer. "Hey." He cupped her face and ran his thumb over her cheek.

She leaned into his touch, leaned against the warmth of his hand. Nick paused in the doorway, a little smile on his face despite the fear that circled between them. Olive met Peter's eyes and let herself relax.

"Enough work for tonight." Peter stepped back and pulled her to her feet.

She glanced over her shoulder at the computer.

"Come on." Peter tugged her towards the door.

Nick caught her other hand. He smiled, pulling her along after him as he walked backwards to the living room. "Peter's right." He flopped onto the couch and she tumbled after him. Peter curled against her side, and tucked between them, her fear melted away.

*****

The weather had turned miserable, trapping them in the apartment. Peter was peering through the blinds on the living room window, watching snow accumulate in the parking lot, trying to resist the urge to pace. He was bored with all the video games they had, and there was nothing on TV. He felt a prickling sensation between his shoulder blades, tiny hairs along his arms and at the back of his neck standing on end. He glanced over his shoulder, swept his eyes over the room behind him.

Peter was getting used to looking up to find hungry eyes on him and as often as not, it wasn't Olive. Depending on his mood his mind either skittered away from the implications of that or slammed adrenaline and lust through his system hard enough to make him dizzy. When the latter happened and he was too slow to snap the walls up to keep his thoughts to himself, Nick's grin was wicked.

Peter had, if he was willing to admit that he was keeping count, kissed Olive four times. Five if he counted the time when he was seventeen and he didn't because that was a lifetime ago. Two of those kisses resulted in Olive blushing hotly and retreating both mentally and physically. The last one still made her blush and Peter had felt the heat of her skin against his, but she didn't run. She pressed closer to him and darted the tip of her tongue out to touch his lower lip before she pulled away and watched him with an expression like she was trying to work out how to solve an equation that was being particularly stubborn.

He had kissed Nick twice, both the same morning, and really, Nick had kissed him and Peter had been a little stoned on pain medicine and groggy and confused so he wasn't sure either of those counted. He turned his back to the window and looked across the room.

Nick was standing in the kitchen, flipping through a magazine, one of the ones that Olive called food porn. He was wearing jeans that looked like they were at least three sizes too big, rode low on his hips and pooled in frayed folds around his bare feet. The waistband of his boxers was showing and the contrast between the black fabric and Nick's pale skin held Peter's eyes. When he raised his eyes Nick was watching him over the edge of the magazine.

Peter took the few steps needed to cross the tiny room and pushed the magazine out of the way before he lost his nerve. Nick stood perfectly still, perfectly blank until Peter's lips were on his. Relief seeped across their connection and Nick brought his arms up slowly, holding Peter but not trapping him. Nick smiled when Peter broke the kiss, and Peter smiled back, and they were both grinning at each other. Nick tightened his arms and pulled Peter against him and it felt good and right. Peter stood there hugging Nick in their tiny kitchen for a long time.

*****

"Jesus, Olivia, make him stop."

She was curled up on the couch, poring over intelligence reports, playing connect the dots with cases of a weaponized strain of measles. "Hmmm?" She didn't even look up from the stack of files in front of her. Peter waved one hand in between her face and the paperwork and was rewarded with a glare.

"Seriously? Can't you hear that?" He gestured towards the kitchen.

"What? Nick?" She dropped her eyes to the report again, flicking her fingers at Peter dismissively. "He's cooking."

Peter dropped both hands on top of his head and made a face of absolute terror at her. "No, he's singing."

She bit back the smile that was threatening her lips. "And…?"

"It sounds like he's torturing cats in there. Make him stop."

"You make him stop." She smirked at him.

"He doesn't fucking listen to me."

She sighed and pulled her glasses off, rubbed the bridge of her nose. "Leave him alone, Peter. Let him be happy."

He heard it even though she didn't say it. _Let me be happy_. He stood in front of her, dumbstruck for a moment, her cold fear pooling in his belly, the strain of holding Nick together, of holding herself together for him. Nick's joy fought with Olive's despair and Peter was caught in between them. He felt like crying, like marching to the ZFT compound and setting the place on fire, like taking them both and running away to where they'd never be found. He was trembling.

She looked up at him with bleak eyes and a wave of emotion washed out from the kitchen forcing a smile onto both of their faces. He crossed to the couch, pulled the papers from her nerveless fingers. She crawled onto his lap when he wrapped his arms around her, melted against him, her hands seeking his skin under his shirt. She rested with her head on his shoulder, breathing along his neck. He wondered if their masters had meant for them to be like this, their heightened emotions tied so inextricably to physical contact. Doubtful, he concluded, and tightened his arms around her, thankful for their mistake.

Nick was standing beside them and Peter hadn't heard him move. A puzzled look crossed his face, worry threatened to drive off his cheerfulness. Olive smiled and held her hand out to him. She and Peter forced their own emotions away from the surface, away from Nick. He leaned against Peter's side, drawing his bare feet up under him and she stroked his cheek, fingers just brushing the edge of his scar.

"What's wrong?"

He sounded so young to her, like when they were kids. She ruffled her fingers through his short, spiky hair. "Nothing. Finished cooking?"

"Uh… yeah. Well, it's in the oven. Olive…?"

She leaned across Peter's chest and kissed Nick, pushing away the worry. "Nothing's wrong." Whispered, brushed against his lips.

Peter's fingers tightened on her back and her eyes popped open, comically wide. Nick grinned into her mouth. She blushed, color staining her cheeks, but she didn't pull away. She pressed against Nick's mouth, deepening the kiss and when she stroked her tongue across his Peter drew in a sharp breath. When she turned to Peter it was deliberate, like she was torn between kissing him and bolting across the room. Peter heard himself make a little sound when her lips met his, something soft and content and maybe it wasn't just him but all of them.

Nick snuggled closer to them, grinning. "Finally, you guys. Finally."


End file.
